


Always, Forever

by ms_munechika



Series: For the Northern Sky [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dark!Aymeric, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy Tactics references EVERYWHERE, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Love Triangles gone crazy, Male-Female Friendship, Mildly Dubious Consent, On Hiatus, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, POV Male Character, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spoilers, Vagrant Story references, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-01-12 14:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18448829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_munechika/pseuds/ms_munechika
Summary: (sort of) a continuation of my other FFXIV fic "Obsessions" but you don't need to read it necessarily to follow this one.WARNING: Spoilers for everything (or at least eventual spoilers) up to and possibly including Shadowbringers. For now, definitely everything through patch 4.56.Aymeric de Borel is a man of many passions, but love is always difficult, especially when the object of your affection has a penchant for throwing themselves into mortal danger. Starting with the last Post-Dragonsong quest (timeline-wise), Aymeric comes to understand what it means to be honest, to be in love, and what it means when your beloved has a destiny so great it may not have a place for you at all... and your enemies may be after more than just your throat.Pairing is PRIMARILY Aymeric/WOL, but Zenos is still Zenos. (Heheheh.)While this WOL is female and named, you can largely substitute your own if you like! Also, I will update the tags as more characters are introduced (and more ships sent flying in xD ...)EDIT: Currently on hiatus as I sort out the emotional bombardment that is Shadowbringers. :O





	1. (Another) Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your interest and I please hope you enjoy! I apologize in advance for any typos/grammatical errors as I don't have an editor heh.
> 
> If you have suggestions or comments, please feel free! I appreciate them all, though I don't often reply. (I do read them, still!)
> 
> This chapter is set just prior to the start of SB. There aren't really much in spoilers, but think of it as "before the storm". Things will get going in the next chapter, mwahahaha....

Aymeric had always been a man known for his optimism in the face of peril, but even he had to concede that the morning light drifting into his bedroom--the sleepy haze of dawn shimmering behind sheer curtains--felt about as unwelcome as one of Nidhogg's brood. An odd feeling for him, as he had always tried to welcome every day with vigor, even when his life was at its darkest. Turning to his side, the fog of sleep cleared and he understood why he hated this particular morning. Soft sunlight across HER skin, his lover looked almost too angelic, too dreamlike, to be truly the same sort of mortal as the ones around her, Aymeric included. Then again, the Warrior of Light was known for what others could only describe as miracles, fighting countless of foes who would have made lesser people into ash. Had she not, less than a moon ago, singularly faced down the dread Nidhogg, no fear in her golden eyes? Gazing at her sleeping form, he wondered how a warrior like her could have such a gentle face, unmarred as if (in his opinion) carved from marble by the greatest of master artisans. Long eyelashes as if painfully placed like those of the most patient of doll-makers. Lips a deep rose pink, he knowing them so wonderfully, soft and full like the most delicate and beautiful petals.

Ahh, he mused, he must truly be tired; he was never prone to this sort of poetry--this child-like sentimentality--at this hour of the morning.

His hand drifted, without thought, to her long dark hair, stray strands of her now a-bit-too-long bangs falling to obscure part of her face. And yet, before his fingers reached their destination, his hand paused, stopping as Aymeric realized his movements. No, he didn't want to disturb the image of his beloved, she so perfect in that simple and minor imperfection. If he did, he knew that reality would come and shake him from this reverie. All he wanted was time to stop, for him to be able to just drown in this very moment, his heart full of love and hope and desire.

Truth was that Aymeric did not want her to leave. Though he would not admit it, he wanted her to stop her unending journey and stay by his side, for him to wake up to her sleeping face every day, for him to be able to give her one thing: for her to just... be. Even if it cost the realm their most stalwart hero.

How unrealistic. How selfish! He knew it was a dream, akin to a babe's fantasy, and his heart ached for that place of dreams, where at least joy and happiness would not seem so fleeting and far away.

Her eyelashes fluttering, Aymeric's beloved met his gaze, a smile blossoming across her lips that pulled at his heart like the snap of a bowstring strained beyond its strength. As he smiled in turn, he knew that the lingering thought of what was to come--what had to come--made his smile lack the grace and earnestness she loved. He saw her recognize it, the most minor difference never slipping from her vigilant mind, and he was quick to take her hand. He kissed her palm and fingertips, then her knuckles--both to appease her and also to hide his own ambivalence. Pressing her fingers, both soft yet calloused, against his cheek, he closed his eyes and prayed. He prayed to Halone to at least give her strength and safety, knowing full well reality would not give him his true wish.

Please, he begged in his mind, give her a life long and more joyful than sad. Give her respite when she needs. Never let her fight alone, at least not truly. To surround her with those who cared and would be there for her. Be there for her when... when he could not. 'Please, Halone, give her your strength and grace. Keep her safe.'

"You seem sad," came the voice so sweet to Aymeric's ears, soft with a drowsy drawl. "Did you have a bad dream?"

He opened his eyes, blue reflected in her gold irises. He did not bother to try to smile.

"It is more that I wish I could have dreamt longer, my love," he sighed, touching her fingertips to his lips again. He just wanted to feel her, to memorize every inch of her, so that he could remember... remember when he knew he may never see her again.

Her free hand came to his cheek, featherlight, tucking his own mussed hair behind his ear. What bad comedy, he thought, that her most gentle touch made him want to fall to his knees and weep. As her finger lingered against his skin, their eyes never leaving the other's, Aymeric felt the familiar coil of warmth wrap around his core, like a warm hearth against the bitter Coerthan cold. As her cheeks flushed, he knew she felt the same, could almost hear their hearts beating in time. With a free hand, he wrapped his fingers around hers, the one against his cheek, and leaned forward, her lips captured by his.

Gentility gave way to hunger, and Aymeric pulled her taut against him as his tongue darted against hers, searching for more between her parted lips. Her hips bucked against him and he could feel his desire beg for purchase, even as her hands grasped his shoulders tight. Rolling her onto her back, her legs wrapping around his torso, his hands grasped at her roughly, the mounds of her breasts in each hand as she pulled him--guided him--into her, the embrace of skin against skin. She arched her back, as she always did, gasping loudly as he settled deep inside her, her face ruddy and beautiful and everything he had ever wanted in life. When he moved, she met him, and he ground hard, gritting his teeth as the pleasure and desire and desperation mixed like the strongest of liquors in his very soul. He bent, not stopping, but capturing taught skin between his teeth. He wanted to remember everything, remember the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her voice. The feel of her against him, so that even if he were to never see her again, he would die at peace knowing the love he shared with her...

"Aymeric, oh Aymeric...!"

With a final push, he ground his teeth hard, almost hissing, as he released his seed, she crying out with her fingers wound tightly in his hair, his hands grasping her thighs so hard she might bruise. And like that, he fell, holding her against him as if he never would let go, his face cradled in the curve of her neck, as perfect and natural as anything (Aymeric surmised) could ever be. For several seconds, he listened to breathing, ragged and then slowing to a more normal pace, her body relaxing even as her skin remained so warm with the echo of climax. Another part to memorize, he thought.

"I love you," she said softly, so quiet that he might not have heard if he was not so close.

"And I, you," he replied, his voice a touch rougher than he intended. Without thought, he added: "I will always love you."

He pulled back, gazing in his beloved's eyes, hoping she could see his sincerity, the truth of his words. Her smile, warm like the sun against Coerthas' plains prior to the Calamity, told him all he needed to know.

"And I, you," she said, half-smirking. He could not help but laugh.

"You wound me," he said behind a smile, finally (painfully) leaving her touch as he laid back to his side of the bed. (His side? When did his very bedchamber become not just his own?) "I do hope you believe me after so many moons."

"Hmm," she teased with a long pause. "The only moons I remember between us were the ones I saw when I was either out traveling or when you weren't pinning me down beneath you."

Aymeric laughed harder, even as he felt his own face heat with the memories. His earlier dread nearly gone, he turned to her with a true smile this time, his eyes reverential like the most pious of Ishgardians' as they gazed upon the image of the Fury herself. Then again, Aymeric did sometimes think of the Warrior of Light akin to Halone made incarnate, vested with both the goddess' strength and beauty. Yet still fragile, he reminded himself, as fragile as any mortal across the land.

Only his beloved could make his emotions so torrential, so much like the wildest of snowstorms in Coerthas. Aymeric sighed as he took his lover's hand in his again, kissing her palm.

"I meant to save this for later, but... I fear I may lose the nerve," he sighed, bringing her hand to his heart. "But I do mean it. I swear it upon everything that is good and holy, that I will always love you. My home will always be your home as well. Ishgard will always be your home. So, please... Know that wherever you go, I will always be with you... Even if I cannot be there physically."

She smiled again, softer, a touch of sadness in the glimmer of unshed tears. A glimpse of the deepest pain Aymeric had ever seen held by someone as young as her.

"I believe you," she said with a shaken voice. "And it means more to me than you can ever know. I just... I didn't want you to wait for me. It wouldn't be fair..."

He suppressed a sudden flare of anger--not at her, but that circumstances made her believe her words--and felt the ache of her soul in his. Carefully, he measured his words, a pause to collect the myriad of thoughts that clashed within him.

"What is unfair," he began, slow as to not let the anger resurface, "is that there are those who would not wait for you, as I know how much you have given to me and to those who had no reason to expect your help. You who ask nothing, but deserve everything... If I must wait an eternity, I would rather wait for you even in another lifetime than give up. It is the least I can do and it is what I want to do."

She pressed a single finger to his lips, shushing him even as the smile on her lips did not match the shimmering tears in her eyes.

"Aymeric, you do not need to explain. I know. I just wanted to thank you. You have always given me that light in the dark... And... I wish I could stay. I do. So, promise me, promise that you will never lose that part of yourself."

"I swear it," he said, his breath warm as he drifted close to her again, his voice only for her to hear. And in the depths of each other's gaze, they knew all that was left unsaid, all that could only be said through touch and touch again they did, refusing to part until hunger and duty called them to their separate paths. Bittersweet was their lovemaking, breathless and clinging, each embrace and each touch more precious than the last.

When Aymeric returned home after his work within Parliament, his beloved was gone. And he wept, wept alone as he reached for the warmth that had not so long ago been there. Her scent in his sheets were all that lingered, all that remained. He had never felt so cold, so alone. Not even when he was but an orphan, not yet adopted into House Borel, had everything felt so... empty. How cruel the gods were, to give them love and yet make it as fleeting as snow adrift in wind.

No wonder, he thought, that Hraesvalgr would rather hide among the clouds, the great dragon having lost his beloved so very long ago. Aymeric only prayed that would not be his fate. Nor his beloved's. And so, to the empty night, he whispered a prayer, not to Halone or any of the Twelve, but to the one he loved.

"Wherever you go, I will always be with you. In time, I pray that will bring you home..."


	2. Undeserving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aymeric and the WOL are reunited, but nothing is quite the same... (set during SB, spoilers abound!)

Time passed, as Aymeric expected, since he had seen his beloved. The Warrior of Light, the Eikon-Slayer... To him, she was both all her titles and yet none of them. She was an extraordinary individual but also a simple person who also needed love and care. She sent him letters, at least, nearly every day; a cold comfort but a comfort nonetheless. Each letter had a certain flavor, a smell of sand and dust sometimes, others having the salt of an ocean far away. The words written, in her usual messy scrawl, confirmed his guesses and told him stories of lands he had wished to walk with her, somehow a touch of amazement and wonder still lingering. And yet, some letters were all too brief, the ink splattered and splotched in a way that he knew could only meant she had cried while writing them, though she always seemed to keep out the story of those tears. It was those letters that he held tightly in his shaking hand, his blue eyes staring blankly at the page long after reading the words on them.

It was an odd thing, of course. It would often take him days to respond to her, unsure how to phrase just exactly and concisely the tornado of thoughts and emotions he held when just imagining her in those distant places, the world around her as she took what precious time she had to simply send word to him. He paced up and down his office, whether in the Convictory or at his manor, his arms crossed and his head dipped just a touch to seem as if he contemplated the carpet and stone floors. And the letters he did eventually send out never felt quite enough, not for him and not for what he felt SHE deserved.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, one late evening, standing halfway between the heavy doors of his office and his wide desk in the Seat of the Lord Commander. With a quiet sweep, somehow silent in her heavy armor, Lucia passed him and placed a platter of tea and a single, delicate slice of rolanberry pie. After all these years, he knew her presence like he knew his own features, the most stalwart (and even-headed) of any ally or friend, even moreso than his near lifelong and wandering friend Estinien.

Aymeric looked up to see Lucia gazing at him, a single furrow between her brow to tell him of her worry. Sighing, he took a few steps to her, the polite distance of friendship between them. When he unfolded his arms, he realized the Warrior of Light's last missive had never left his hand, half-crumbled from his grip. Lucia looked to the letter and then back to Aymeric, her voice sudden but still gentle.

"My lord, why is it you cannot give time to just see her? Surely the Parliament would give you some time to yourself..."

"I cannot," Aymeric replied, though part of him wondered if it was his own obstinacy or fact from which the words came. "Who knows how long it has taken the postmoogle to get it here. She may have long moved on. And..."

"And you would rather not speak of your relationship with her," Lucia finished for him. "Please forgive me, lord, but I do not understand the reason for secrecy. As a hero to Ishgard and Eorzea as a whole, I do not think any noble of Isghard would dare begrudge you for your affections to her..."

She had a point, of course. Lucia was always one to cut to the truth with such rapidity. Aymeric sighed, his gaze turning to the polished wood of his desk, as if investigating the small scuffs and other imperfections from time and use.

"I... I am afraid," he admitted, his voice low. "What if she moves on? What if she grows tired of the distance and leaves me for someone who could stay by her side, not bogged down by duty or obligation? Not only would I be a fool, but how would she appear to the people? Could they understand her? I myself would not blame her..."

Lucia turned her eyes towards a stack of papers, silent though Aymeric knew she meant to call his attention to it. Indeed, it wasn't a stack of the dry paperwork of Ishgard's parliamentary meetings, nothing to approve, nothing so simple... and almost insignificant as that. They were a collection of his beloved's letters, piled neatly as to appear innocuous to anyone who would come to his office. And yet, they were still out in the open and not even the full collection of all her letters to him, nearly two summers passed of her words. Words meant only for him.

Aymeric's eyes softened, a sting at the back of his eyes. He did miss his beloved terribly, each cycle of the moon without her like the slow tread of snow on a windless day. What was he truly afraid of? Did he even know?

Lucia, graceful, picked up a small teacup and saucer, handing it out to him.

"Perhaps you should think on it, my lord. You are tired and need rest."

Blithely, he nodded, taking the warm cup in his hand, the gentle heat as calming as the soft sweetness and earthy aroma of his favorite tea. Smiling at him, Lucia bowed and left him with only the crackle of the fireplace and the light of the stars behind him.

-#-

As fate would have it, duty was exactly that which reunited Aymeric with his beloved. As the final press to reclaim the city of Ala Mhigo approached, Aymeric arrived with his soldiers as fast as he could, knowing full well that even if she was not there yet, the Warrior of Light would inevitably come to Porta Praetoria to fight alongside all the nations she had given her support. Each day he came closer to arriving, his heart pounded just a touch faster, his mind trying its best to calm his heart, to steel himself for any disappointment that might occur. If there was even a chance of it, he needed his composure, composure he had time and time again lost in the presence of the woman he loved more than anything. (In the moment of a quiet night, he remembered vividly his praising of her to convince her to join Ishgard's side in the Grand Melee. The look on Lord Edmont's face as the elder Elezen tried to stifle a broad smile; the look of Emmanellain's face as it was all too apparent Aymeric had gone a bit far, become a bit too heated, in his clamor for the Warrior of Light's approval.)

And by the grace of the gods, she arrived shortly after him. He recognized her by simply the sound of her step against the stone, the steady tip-tap of her gait having been burned into his memory without him knowing. It took all his strength not to turn around and sweep her into his arms, the urge to hold her like a fire under his skin. Too long had he not seen her face, too long had he not known the touch of her skin against his. Too long had he not been graced by her gentle smile, that smile that melted away all his worries and pain from the life he had lived. But he was vigilant and when she stood to the right of the Leveilleur twins, her form so painfully close and yet so far away from Aymeric with no one even sparing him to stand between them... Somehow, somehow he kept his gaze measured.

But. As General Raubahn Aldynn began to go over the plan for the siege to free Ala Mhigo, he felt the brush of fingertips against his, the war table thankfully tall enough to hide the surreptitious gesture. When he chanced a glance, he saw the Warrior of Light gazing steadily as she listened to Raubahn, even as he could plainly see her hand touching his. When had she drifted closer? Perhaps, he thought beneath the wild pounding of his heart, this was but a useful byproduct of so many years perfecting her skills in battle. By the time the meeting was adjourned, her hand had joined his, his fingers curling around her palm.

It was of course disheartening to Aymeric that Raubahn asked the city-state representatives to stay behind as the Scions went to investigate passage into the city, he having hoped for a moment with his beloved, however short it might have been. Still, he felt joy more than disappointment, the warmth of her hand in his lingering long after her departure. How she could give him strength without a single word amazed him. No wonder her very presence inspired even the weakest of men to acts of bravery, she who rallied nations not by grand speeches; but by simply doing what she had always done: helping everyone without asking for anything in return.

Hope incarnate. That was what she was, at least to him.

As the sun drifted low--the sky becoming that blessed mix of yellows, reds, and blues--Aymeric took his chance and went to the Warrior of Light, his excuse a meal in his hands, knowing all too well how she could forget her own basic necessities. She sat far from the group of soldiers and leaders, her legs dangling as she watched the procession of Eorzea's finest from atop what was left of a short wall. When her eyes caught sight of him, she smiled broadly and dropped down to meet him as he came close. The reflection of the stars in her eyes.

"Ser Aymeric," she greeted him, kind in the tone of her sing-song voice. "Should you not be with the others? The sun plans to greet us with battle in the morn."

Something was amiss, Aymeric realized as he came close to truly look upon her, to meet her gaze fully. Though she smiled, the light did not quite touch her eyes, not as it had before. He paused for a moment too long and his beloved's smile dropped just a touch.

"Oh, is that for me?" She asked, her words forced, as she broke their gaze, reaching to take the bread and soup in Aymeric's hands. "That is quite kind of you, Ser Aymeric. I have always been so bad at taking care of myself."

"I know," Aymeric replied, a bit cooler than he intended. "But you also have not addressed me so formally in such a long time, Mari."

Taking her wrist with a swift grasp, Aymeric pulled her away from the wall, though he had no destination in mind.

"Aymeric... Aymeric!" Her voice rang and the Lord Commander turned to find a number of soldiers, not many, watching them. When he knew it would have bothered him less than a fortnight before, now he felt their gaze insignificant and turned his attention back to the Warrior of Light. No, he corrected himself, the woman he loved.

"I don't care anymore, Mari," Aymeric stated, almost shouting. He took in a long breath to keep his voice from raising any higher. "What I care about is you. Why does the light seem dim in your eyes now? Why do you distance yourself when you held my hand mere hours ago?"

Aymeric had always been a man outwardly ruled by logic, but his true self was always dictated by his passion--for justice, for his people, for everything that was good and honest. If honesty earned him the trust of Ishgard, then he cared little to put up the mask of the politician for the sake of propriety. Not now, not when everything important to him was at stake. There must be a reason... He had too many questions, too many words unspoken in the distance between them since she left Ishgard so many moons ago.

"Please, Mari. You are the light of my soul and I would give you everything and anything that is within my power to give you." 

He had calmed down enough that even if there was strength in his conviction, he no longer could be heard by the entire encampment. For her part, she turned her reddened face away, chewing oh so slightly on her bottom lip.

"I know you would," she said, voice so soft he would not have heard her if his focus strayed even a little. "But there is too much and too little. I can't promise to be there when you need me... and neither can you... for me..."

All his fears rushed back into Aymeric's thoughts, drowning out everything around him, even his very sight on the physical reality before him. Nagging accusations to himself from himself of how he was unworthy, how he would never be worthy, not of love and much less the love of someone as kind and giving as HER. His father never cared and his mother left him without even the knowledge of where he was from or how he could care for himself. An orphan on the street, blessed with the sheer luck of a highborn who had no heirs and a wife barren. His very name was not his own, so how could he deserve anything than that which he had?

A voice, unfamiliar and very much not his own, whispered like the wind in his ears. A voice deep and laced with honeyed poison.

"She cannot love you for you are lesser than her. You are not worthy."

Aymeric shook his head, but the voice remained.

"She is mine, do you understand? She is mine to hunt, mine to have, and you will never deserve her. You are weak and she is beyond your ken."

The tall Elezen felt a wave of nausea, his legs so used to standing for hours on end now suddenly as useless as a cart's broken wheel. His vision blurred and suddenly there was nothing... Nothing but the soft hands of a woman, tender even if calloused, the smell of sweat and flowers in her hair and skin. So familiar. So soothing. Yes... As he shut his eyes, he only had one thought.

'Home. This is where my home is.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! I'm adding this one quickly and I can't promise how fast I'll be able to add chapters, but I realized that after posting the first chapter (at 4 AM haha) that it didn't have much "meat" in it. So, I hope you were able to follow just a little to here.
> 
> I confess this is going in a new direction, but it's a good thing! Your support is always, always appreciated. <3


	3. Truth in Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aymeric comes "face to face" with the voice that whispered to him, pushing the Elezen to finally take hold of his fate.
> 
> But is it delusion? Or reality?

It was one thing to be nervous before a battle, however small or large, and quite another to be struck with a fever the night before a morning assault. In the haze of this sudden "illness", Aymeric wondered about life and the turns he had taken to this point. He was nearing the latter half of his thirties and yet he was still unmarried, without children (much less an heir, as his head steward liked to repeat to him oh so regularly), without any sort of security for the future of his household. He liked to remind himself of the circumstances of his name, of his adoption by a kind man and his gracious wife, who treated him as if he was their flesh and blood. But they were already nearing their twilight years when they had given him a home. The small fortune--not in jewels or gil, but in unconditional love--he had been given did not last long... He always wondered if the man who had openly called him family had died too soon, perhaps caused by the relentless whispers of highborn gossips regarding the truth of Aymeric's parentage. In the delirium of fever, he wondered how much of his blighted blood had harmed all that he had held dear, before and now...

The image of Haurchefant in his arms flashed in Aymeric's inner eye, the dying man reaching out for the one woman both men loved. A soft smile even when in such pain, the gentle request for a small grace, Haurchefant always the one to lighten the burden of another, even as he must have known this was to be his final act of kindness. How hard the Warrior of Light tried to repay him, her smile strained but conveying all that words could not. How her hands gripped tightly around Haurchefant's, even as his last breath had long left him. The crushing pain in her eyes, the shudder of her oh so small shoulders, a sight so different from the stoic image most knew of her.

A secret thought, unbidden and swiftly denied, in Aymeric. Relief. How at last he could...

"Shameful," came a wicked voice in Aymeric's delirium. The one who had whispered to him before he had fallen. "Capitalizing on your friend's death to snatch her for yourself? Tsk tsk, and they think you such a noble man. If I didn't know any better, I would say you were glad he was dead. Perhaps even stalled a touch too long, knowing he would do anything to protect her?"

"No," Aymeric seethed, this dream realm feeling too heavy and yet also real. "I would never hurt a friend knowingly."

"And yet you ran straight for the man who had denied your existence and left your birth mother for an early grave. A man with half your intelligence would know that he was not a man to be reasoned with."

Even obscured, Aymeric could feel in his bones the cruel smirk across the face of his torturer. Was this real? Was this some madness in him? After all, his birth father had grown mad in the end, hadn't he? They say the apple never falls too far from the tree...

"Come now. Let us be honest. One man to another. The prize is beautiful and gifted with such strength it defies reason. A rare jewel in a sea of mediocrity, no? Oh, the look in her eyes when she has her mind set on her target. They say eyes are the windows to the soul and we both know that she hides much from those around her. But her eyes burn the brightest in battle, fire in her golden irises like that I have never seen."

There was something perverse in the man's tone, his sigh long and a touch ragged, like a man imagining the finest of meals or the curves of a lover's supple flesh. Such reverence felt twisted, churning something in Aymeric's very soul, revulsion and loathing like bile in his throat.

"Who are you?" Aymeric spit out the words, staggering but forcing his aetherial self to stand. "I never want her to keep on like this, battle after battle."

"You know who I am. We are not so different, after all, are we?"

As if a fog lifted, the man's image came into being before Aymeric. Tall and broad of shoulder, long blond hair sweeping with torturous grace, the "Third Eye" between a vivid blue gaze. The self-assured sneer of a man who believed himself never to err, to be above all that existed. Indeed, Aymeric knew who this man was. The monster in the skin of a Garlean prince, heir to the Emperor of Garlemald...

Zenos yae Galvus.

"This is a dream," Aymeric told himself, as if it might wake him. "You are not real and nothing you say is either."

"How can you be so sure, Ser Aymeric de Borel," Zenos asked, the words laced with viscous loathing. "You are the one in my realm. The interloper. And I cannot have you denying the final dance between our warrior princess and myself. You are insignificant, a character to serve only as backdrop on this stage of life and death."

Aymeric gritted his teeth. He had heard this speech, in different ways, but always with the same meaning. His strength rallied then, memories of men and women trying to push him down because of circumstances outside his control, circumstances that had not made him but those that he had overcome to be the man he was.

"You underestimate me!" His adoptive father's sword came to his hand and Aymeric swung with all the grace and force life could give. The Naegling glowed as it cut through the air, through the image of Zenos, bright with aetherial light. Light searing out darkness, leaving only a dazzling path in its wake...

A path forward.

-#-

Blue eyes snapped open, Aymeric blinking as he felt a wet cloth dab at his temples. Turning his face, he saw his beloved--the Warrior of Light, his Mari of the Greylands--her eyes wide as her hand hovered with the damp cloth in her hands. She had been watching over him, he realized, her tunic's sleeves rolled to her elbows and her hair tied back in a hasty bun. His eyes widened, a rush of memories swirling within him, everything that had led to this moment. He sat up, swift enough that the Warrior of Light jumped back, just enough to avoid his head connecting with her chin. His muscles were painfully taut with adrenaline, his blood thumping in his ears. His very skin felt too warm, every nerve on fire, as he threw the thin blanket off himself. What had been that "dream"? Was it real? If so, why was it Zenos? How did he come into Aymeric's very mind?

He pressed his lips into a thin line, his eyes searching not what was before him, but the vision that threatened to disappear in his waking self. A soft touch, hesitant in its tremble, brought Aymeric back to reality, a wide gaze meeting another's. Her hand rested--if you could call it resting--on his bare shoulder. It was only then that he realized he was bare-chested, the Gyr Albanian night cool against his sweat-covered skin. Propriety told him to cover up, but he had no wish to obey the foolish rules of highborn etiquette.

He had told her before, hadn't he? He was not a man who came from good stock.

Aymeric certainly wasn't a prince in line to a throne, either. No royal blood in his veins whatsoever.

Pinching the bridge of his nose--a far too common gesture of his as of late--he inhaled long, if only to stabilize the rapidity of his heart. A vague thought came to his mind, soothing even if it shamed him all the same. At least, he thought, his beloved did not deny him now. Did not act as if he was nothing to her. He would stand tall against any person who would put him down and certainly had before, yet for her... for her to treat him as if he meant nothing more than another ally... that would be far more than he could bear.

'Not you. You can't. I won't stand for it. I cannot. I cannot allow it. You cannot. You will not!'

A litany like the chorus of a hymn, but fervent and unrelenting. Again and again repeating in his mind. A mantra inverted. Unbidden and coming from the depths of something he had hidden even from himself.

Not even saints were without their faults. Hadn't the Dragonsong War taught him as much?

A fire behind his ice blue irises, a paradox of the outward and inner, Aymeric turned fully to the woman at his side. In her hand was still the cloth she had used to cool his fever, still damp. His gaze trailed from her delicate fingers and up her toned, lithe arm, up to the curve of her shoulder, to her bare neck, her high cheekbones, her wide gold eyes, the mussed black hair, wayward strands clinging to the sides of her face with perspiration. His gaze moved down again, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the tease of the small dip between her collarbones, clad as she was without armor and just a thin tunic.

He moved without thought, his hands reaching for that blasted collar of her plain clothes, pulling her to him just as he tore at them with the strength others often forgot he had. She yelped but clasped a hand over her lips just as the sound came, an act of her own volition. The cloth walls of the tent would hide no sound, both of them knew, but Aymeric would not stop. There was only one purpose in his mind. Wanting. Claiming. Owning

Hunger. The hunger of a man lost in a desert searching for sustenance.

But the only sustenance that could soothe Aymeric was the taste of his lover's skin.

Fuck that bastard Zenos. Aymeric would never allow anyone take his beloved away, whether by force or by seduction or by any other means. No matter the circumstances.

Her curves were familiar, as familiar as his own form, and he lifted her with ease into his lap, pressing her against him so hard she pressed her lips against his, gasping sharply into his mouth. He took a fistful of her hair, almost smirking at how useful her messy bun was at the moment, tugging her with one hand there and his other keeping her tight against him as he pulled her beneath him. Her nails dug into his skin, a sharp pain but he did not mind it, his hips grinding against her just as she bucked her hips up, her legs clasped around his waist. Even their smallclothes felt akin to wool rather than the thin cotton they actually were. Rough, unrelenting, he pulled what remained of her clothes from her hips, easily discarding his own after.

Aymeric plunged himself into her, hissing as he felt her envelop her, her back arching high at the suddenness, one hand of hers shaking as she tried desperately to cover the sounds escaping her lips. He slowed just enough to keep himself in check, expertly moving his hips even as he bit hard on his lower lip, wanting nothing but to see his beloved reach climax. He knew the signs her body would make, the feel of her reaching that peak of pleasure. He wanted... he wanted everything.

It was a dance, after all, lovemaking. And he wanted to lead.

He dipped his face, his breath against her ear.

"Look at me," he stated, heat in the hoarseness of his demand. "Look at me and say my name."

When he pulled back, eyes never leaving her face, she complied, her own gaze glassy with desire and submission. Had anyone seen anything so beautiful? And it was his privilege and his alone. Only him. Only he could have this!

"Aymeric, Aymeric...! I, I... Aymeric, oh gods!" She grasped at his arms, her hold so tight her nails broke skin yet again. He didn't care, though. In fact, it only gave him another idea.

He bent down with the grace of a man who had found control and conviction, his lips parted as he bore his teeth. Aymeric bit at her skin, sensitive parts of hers that he knew well. He wanted to mark her, leave her with something subtle but undeniable. Something that said that she belonged to him and was his and his alone. And so, he sucked and bit at her neck, leaving blossoming bruises in his wake, only to add his teeth to her shoulder, another bruise above one breast, and another hidden that only he would see with his use of her taut nipples. She writhed under his hold, gasps and moans and all sorts of delectable sounds escaping her lips. His lips met hers, only partially trying to keep her sounds quiet as he cradled her neck with one hand. Part of him wanted to let them hear, let them know if his marks would not, how much she was to him...

"I love you," he said, voice suddenly softening even as he continued to move within her. Her eyes--still on him--became misty, tears at the corner of her eyes. "I have always loved you... From the moment our eyes met... and before..."

She came then, pushed over the edge and taking him with her, both of them shuddering before collapsing against one another. After a few breaths, Aymeric listening to her heartbeat, her fingers wound in his hair, stroking through strands. Just as tender as her touch had been that morning at the war table.

"I'm sorry," she sighed behind deep breaths. "I just wanted to protect you... I love you, Aymeric. I never did not. I swear..."

"I know," he stated, eyes closing as he wrapped himself in her arms just as she was in his. "I was scared and I hope you can forgive me. I never meant..."

She kissed the crown of his hair, affection and love in the softest of touches.

"Shh. There's nothing to forgive. Let yourself rest. We have a long day ahead of us."

Like that, their body entwined in a mess of limbs yet perfect all the same, Aymeric finally relaxed, his muscles giving up their struggle. He had what he had missed for so long, what he had denied himself for reasons he no longer understood. Nothing mattered except for the woman in his arms, his most beloved... Her love the only validation that mattered... His salvation and the true reason he kept Ishgard safe. Safe for her.

With only the steady beat of her heart in the quiet of the night, he drifted to dreamless sleep, grateful and sated. The closest feeling to happiness in the dark times they lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading and keeping up with this! I admit this is a different take on Aymeric than usual, but I hope you have enjoyed the ride as much as I am writing! I can't promise the chapters will come as quickly as this going forward, but I'm having so much fun. So who knows! (Your continued support, of course, makes motivation much easier heheh <3 )
> 
> Next up: The fight for Ala Mhigo comes and Zenos finally takes stage... ho ho ho ho... And is that a wild Hien in the skies?!?


	4. Wash Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we come to the battle of Ala Mhigo...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, apologies in advance for spelling or grammar issues. I may have finished this in the weeeeee hours of the morning...
> 
> Your thoughts and feedback is my lifeline and thank you for your support so far! <3

Morning. Trying (and failing) to seem asleep, Aymeric groaned; he was less and less of that "morning person" he used to be. Perhaps he was becoming a touch lazy? The thought made him smile, nuzzling his face into the surprisingly soft form beneath him. Perhaps it was a bit rude to use your lover as a pillow, but even in sleep, he had refused to let her go. Drowsy fingers curled in his hair, smoothing his messy locks. Glancing one half-opened eye towards the small opening to the Lord Commander's tent, Aymeric could see it was just past dawn. His soldiers moved--some with practice, some with their nerves showing--preparing themselves for the fight ahead. Any moment now...

Lucia coughed, purposefully loud, outside his tent. After waiting a polite minute or so, her armor-gloved hand opened the flap, green eyes already averted but her form as calm as it always was. Aymeric sighed, relinquishing himself to reality as he pushed himself to sit up on his cot. He allowed himself only a brief sweep of his eyes on his beloved, her skin aglow even in the scarce light allowed by the tents heavy cloth walls. Like Lucia, she was calm, giving him a small smile before wrapping part of the sheets around her torso, keeping just enough to keep Aymeric's propriety as she followed him to a seat.

He supposed since it was Lucia, a dear friend to both him and the Warrior of Light, his lover did not seem to mind the intrusion. If it were one of the Leveilleur twins, though, or someone else of the Scions or gathered armies, he wondered if she would have stayed so calm.

"My Lord," Lucia began, turning to face Aymeric, her voice as polite as it always was. "Preparations for the assault proceed as planned. General Aldynn wishes for the collected leaders of the Alliance to join him for a small briefing before we head for the castle. I have asked for a brief moment on your behalf, as you had trouble... resting... but he wished me to express to you that he would be grateful for what haste you could muster."

A small smile formed on Lucia's lips and Aymeric stifled a laugh. How his friend knew him so well. Little did anyone knew how cheeky she could be, as much as Estinien if much more subtle. The Warrior of Light, on the other hand, giggled openly, a sight and sound Aymeric did not know he had missed dearly until that moment. How many times had he and everyone around her tell her to rest, only for her to ignore the suggestion? Then again, circumstances often were that she never had a choice, did she? Frustration made Aymeric's smile slip, memories of a certain dinner interrupted and an important question (for him, for her) never answered.

Maybe, his thoughts collected, he could ask her again, once this was all over... And, perhaps, he could ask the other question that was supposed to follow...

Lucia bowed and left the tent for their privacy. The silence was easy, however, as they gathered clothing and armor. When Aymeric fumbled a little with his (perhaps overly) ornate suit of gold and blue, deft fingers came to his aid, untangling buckles and straightening clasps and chains. He smiled at his beloved, watching her dress him. He could get used to that, his mind hummed; would welcome it, even. When it came her turn to finish dressing, he helped her in return, though she in all likelihood did not need extra hands at all.

As he finished closing the clasp of a necklace around her neck, he bent down and kissed the nape of her neck, his lips lingering at the baseline of her hair, the length swept over one shoulder.

"Thank you," he spoke as he pressed another kiss, this time to her bare shoulder, "for indulging me yet again. Be safe today, my love. Come back to me in one piece."

Her hand reached for his, their fingers winding together as she leaned against his chest.

"I will, I promise."

-#-

The Templar Knights had always been a brave collection of men and women, coming from both highborn and lowborn households, just as those who joined the selective order of Ishgard's Dragoons. But Aymeric had to admit that all of those who stood at the gates of Ala Mhigo were perhaps the bravest of all in Eorzea, certainly at this moment... Magitek armor coming down on their heads, after all. Little use, he calculated, was a sword against an enemy he could not reach...

"Doma has come to repay her debts!"

Aymeric blinked, his gaze following so many others' at the steps, his eyes widening as a man atop of a... some species of bird swung a curved blade with such precision that Aymeric wondered if it was magic that caused the streak of light and the explosion that followed. By the Fury... how was that even possible...?

"A single stroke... in MIDAIR...?" Aymeric mumbled, still a touch dazed, even as the strangers from the east had certainly turned everything to their favor. Well, so much, he sighed, to being the most heroic man on the field, his eyes watching young Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light smile wide. Obviously, the leader of Doma had been the one who had just charged the air brigade. And was it his imagination or did the man call out to the Scions... perhaps the vaunted hero herself...?

He shook his dark hair, an urge to slap himself. This wasn't the time to be jealous! The forces needed to move!

Naturally, the royal palace was a maze of fighting, soldiers of both side clashing at every turn. Aymeric led half of the Temple Knights, with Lucia running a second battalion. The plan was for the Warrior of Light and her companions to cut a precise trail to the throne room, Aymeric leading a charge to divert most of the forces from her heels. Yet... it felt easy. Too easy. As if the Garlean forces had no preparation, no real plan to defend the palace. It was a struggle, sure, but there was little strategy in their movements, just surge after surge of soldiers. No sign of the hated prince, either. The man couldn't be just biding his time, could he? Aymeric's mind raced, trying to make sense of the battle, if there was any to be had.

What sort of commander remained absent from the field...?

In the midst of striking down a masked Garlean, a sudden snap surged in Aymeric's mind. His blood ran cold and he ordered Lucia, who had rejoined the collective Templar Knights, to take command as he sprinted towards Ala Mhigo's throne room. He knew his beloved, the hero of Eorzea and Warrior of Light, could handle herself better than most veterans, but something felt WRONG. He felt it in his bones, the chill in his heart. This had all been a trap! A trap by a madman!

The throne room's doors were thicker than the walls of the Vault in Ishgard and Aymeric found them closed to him, blocked from even opening no matter how many tried to open the doors. As Gridania's Elder Seedseer explained, it was magic that held it closed, but abnormal in its aetherial echo. Alien and powerful. Unnatural. Aymeric slammed his fist into the stone, so hard that he left a crack in his wake. He could hear nothing from the other side, even as he could TASTE the bloodlust in the air. Yet, as Lucia pulled him away from the wall and explained, there was nothing to do but trust in his beloved's strength and for time to give them a way forward.

The fighting throughout the palace had all but ended when the roar shook the very firmament. A dragon-like roar of pure hatred... Shinryu. Kan-E-Senna had said the name first, a delicate hand over her lips as she stared towards the heavens, many a man and woman running to their leaders soon after to report the sighting of the man-made primal in the skies. Yet, with fear and anticipation, they exclaimed that it made no move to come down on the city, only remaining in the skies as a flash of light followed.

Light. Every person who had seen the Warrior of Light at her most profound knew it could only be her who had followed the dragon-primal. A thing of hate gifted with the eyes of a wyrm whose sole purpose was vengeance for generations... Yet, he knew she would survive, but even though he did worry, something else tugged at him, a thought bubbling from the deepest parts of his soul...

'My enemy. My first friend.'

Zenos' voice, again, but the demon prince was not speaking to him. He saw it as clear as he would any dream, whether awake or in slumber. The gentle smile on the face of the handsome prince, the odd sense of peace as he placed his blade to his neck, his sky blue eyes meeting with the golden eyes across from him, white and pink flowers all around them, petals still afloat as his hand tightened around the grip. As if Lyse and Alphinaud were not even there, Lyse flying to stop him, but the smile on Zenos' lips only for the Warrior of Light, unperturbed by Lyse's attempts. The only recognition of the spirited Ala Mhigan was his smile fading, just as...

"My lord!"

Aymeric turned to the voice, Lucia's brows raised as she called for him. He could feel himself shaking, tightening his fists so hard that his nails would have bit into skin if not for his long gloves. As if the act would steady himself. That was his hope, at the very least. The pain would have helped him more.

But what was he seeing? What had he seen?

And why...?

-#-

Ala Mhigo freed, many only wished to celebrate their victory, whether Gyr Abanian or not. Aymeric contemplated a cup of wine in his hand, crystal glasses quite impractical in their setting. They had all decided to reconvene at Porta Praetoria, but Aymeric had joined in festivities with the hope that he could find his beloved. Leaders and soldiers, from all ranks, mingled among one another, but the Warrior of Light had not been seen for some time, or so Lucia had told him discreetly. And so, he gazed into his wine, wondering about the propriety of dipping away from the gathering. Claiming to need a moment, he walked down the steps that separated the Lochs and the Peaks. His eyes on the sky, the sun moved in its slow descent over the horizon, clouds here and there only to keep the blazing heat of Gyr Abania to at least tolerable (which begged the question... why in the Fury's name did he not have something more suitable for weather like this?).

Laughter flitted along a breeze, the titter of voices vaguely familiar (and some not) to Aymeric. He paused at the landing, where the voices were just around the corner. A man laughed heartily, the voice strong with just the barest hint of an accent. The Doman, if Aymeric had to guess. Lord Hien Rijin, the recently enthroned prince. Aymeric had always made it his business to know all the movements of the realm, inside and outside Eorzea. And, of course, he had indeed met Lady Yugiri before, their first meeting pleasant in her saving the awkwardness of his sudden (and vehement) sincerity during the council that preceded the release of Omega...

Aymeric, however, was stalling. He knew this and yet could not help himself.

"I did not mean to have such a dramatic entrance, my friend," Lord Hien stated with such optimism. One might have thought the Doman spoke of a play, not a battlefield, the cheeriness almost infectious.

"Alphinaud had his doubts," came a gentle, familiar voice. The Warrior of Light. Aymeric could see her smile in his thoughts, imagined it as if he stood right beside her. "I admit it was a bit serendipitous for you to show up with the Xaela right then... I tried to believe you were not so... flashy as that."

A big laugh from the man.

"So says the woman who gave me that army in her absence!" Hien, it seemed, was a man who enjoyed a more playful outlook on all things. "It had been too long since we fought side by side, my friend. I shall ever be in your debt, as will Doma. There can never be a lack of hope so long as you are here to remind us of all we can do."

"I thought you said you weren't going to be dramatic," was the Lightbringer's reply, a light titter tatter following.

Aymeric felt an urge to ball his hands into fists. It was jealousy, he knew, that dark part of all people that even he could not escape. He hid it well, of course, but he was still a man and a man whose lover could never guarantee when she would return home. It would be easy enough to see how friendship could blossom into something more, struggle and battles always creating a certain loyalty and dependence with those by your side. After all, many saw that as how it happened between Aymeric and the Warrior of Light... though he had fallen in love with her long before...

But his heart could not hold onto rage. There was... something off. Only those who did not know as well as Aymeric would not notice it... that hint of trepidation, the straining of her voice just a touch. Much to his shame, it made him... happy. That he knew her better than the man she conversed with. A certain sense of superiority over would-be rivals...

The thought felt more than familiar, familiar but also foreign--a thought unearthed from within him, like a silent sea serpent breaking the water's surface in search of prey. 'Prey'...

Aymeric shook his head. This was unlike him.

The sound of his footfalls grabbed the attention of the group, the Warrior of Light first to turn towards Aymeric. As their eyes met, her gaze softened, her emotional defenses lowering. The Elezen let out a breath he had not realized he held, the turmoil within him suddenly calmed. All his musings didn't matter, after all, did it? So long as she was his...

"Lord Hien, I take it?" Aymeric said, breaking gaze with the Warrior of Light to turn to the young Hyur by her. Finally standing before each other, the Elezen took note of the leader of Doma, the man's strong frame--the bright smile and warm eyes out of place against the litany of mismatched scars. He was a good, decent man, Aymeric could tell, his demeanor much like an old friend who had been taken too soon. Different words and mannerisms, but Hien Rijin had the same clear determination in his eyes as Haurchefant. 

"Aye, aye," Hien smiled, bowing from his waist. "You must be Ser Aymeric of Ishgard? Well-met, my friend. As Mari calls you friend, so shall I."

Yugiri, as astute as Lucia Aymeric thought, leaned towards Hien and whispered some words too quiet for Aymeric to hear. For a split second, the Hyur's gold-brown eyes widened, before returning within a single breath to his amicable stance. The only sign of what the shinobi had told him was a faint blush across the man's cheeks. (An honest man, Aymeric thought. Just like Haurchefant.)

"Well," Hien continued, a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "We do not mean to monopolize the great Warrior of Light's time. We only wished to offer our thanks and reminisce. It is not too often that one makes such friends from so far a place."

The man bowed again before leaving, followed by his retinue of soldiers. The Warrior of Light watched them for a moment, her eyes curious as she watched them depart. In that quiet place, now as much alone as they could be in Porta Praetoria, Aymeric placed his hand on his lover's small shoulder, her skin warm with the ambient heat. Slowly, he trailed his fingers from there to the nape of her neck, gliding his touch across to brush her hair over the opposite shoulder. Without a word, he placed a small kiss on the curve of her neck, his lips lingering just a breath apart.

She smelled of sand and sun. Salt and sweat. Different than when she was in Ishgard, where it was always cold with snow and ice, the smell of forests and earth often on her after her treks into Dravania.

Aymeric shut his eyes, inhaling deep, as his arms wrapped easily around the smaller woman. In turn, she tilted her head, as if welcoming him to come closer, hold her tighter, his face nuzzling into her hair as naturally as the movement of the heavens. She hummed some tune to herself, the vibrations of the song like a lullaby to Aymeric's nerves. He really had no reason for these odd bouts of jealousy. Just the aftereffect of a madman's ravings, that man now dead to never bother the living.

Yet, the serenity did not last, gentle reverberations turning to shaking. Aymeric felt his beloved's song stop as she heaved with a silent cry, tears spilling onto the leather of his long gloves. Just as he loosened his hold, she turned to him, eyes shining with unspoken pain. As her hands tugged at the cloth around his armor--a silent demand he knew well--Aymeric pulled her into a tight embrace, cooing softly into her hair.

"Shh, shh. It's alright. It's alright..." His fingers smoothed through her hair, he careful to avoid the tangles inevitable from all the fighting. "I'm here. I'm here."

He took her to a place far from the celebrations in the makeshift settlement, somewhere where she could be herself and not the savior Eorzea relied so much on. It was just his tent, of course, but at least they had some privacy, many people still enjoying themselves on the steps and valleys away from there. Just as he closed the curtain behind them, his lover all but jumped into his arms, her lips meeting his with a ferocity that did not match the tears in her eyes.

There was no time to process as her hands grabbed at his cloak and armor, her kisses so desperate that their lips parted only when they needed to breathe. Swept up in this desire, Aymeric could do nothing but comply, his hands freeing his lover from everything that kept her skin from his, both of them nearly tumbling onto the cot. Within moments, she straddled atop of him, he pinned on the floor--a mess of cloth and robes and anything soft enough to be a barrier between them and the floor, the cot forgotten in favor of the earth beneath them.

"Please, Aymeric, please..."

She was begging and grinding against him as he hissed with the strength of his desire, sudden and almost painful with unbridled lust. And so, he took hold of her hips, lifting her up only to pull her down as he entered her, a sharp cry from her lips as a groan escaped his throat. His hands guided her as she moved, her body shaking with their frenetic lovemaking. She reached her peak surprisingly swift and he dug his nails into her skin as she cried out his name, neither of them even bothering with discretion. It no longer mattered; perhaps it never had.

Aymeric kissed her as she fell into his embrace, exhausted from the strength of her orgasm, before he rolled her onto her back, she underneath him. Wiping the now-drying tears from her eyes, he placed his lips to each corner of her brows, this time as gentle as he could be as he rejoined their bodies. Whatever bothered her, his purpose at that moment was to see that burden released, even if only temporarily. And so, he kissed her a thousand times, deep enough to steal her breath as she did his, bodies entwined and moving in a tempo that was both harmonious and erratic. A dance. A struggle to know the depths of each other's hearts and souls.

Allowing himself--finally--his own release, the tall Elezen all but collapsed into his beloved's arms, his temple cradled just under her chin, bodies slick with sweat and sticky with heat. It didn't matter, of course, as Aymeric wrapped his long arms around the woman, his eyes fluttering close. She smelled like him, always did after they made love, and it was a joyous realization every time he noticed it. As she smoothed his mess of hair, her fingers light on his skin as she brushed his bangs from his face, he inhaled for a long moment. After all, he had so many questions...

"What are we doing?" It was the Warrior of Light who spoke first, much to Aymeric's surprise. "What am I doing...?"

"To the first," Aymeric sighed, gathering her in his arms, as if he were but a petulant child refusing to release a blanket or stuffed animal, "I know what I would want, but I wish for you to choose... As I've always wanted. Why I had asked--so many seasons ago--what you had wanted for yourself. Do you remember, Mari...?"

He felt her lips brush against his hairline, a warm exhale accompanying.

"You asked me what I had wanted, when everything had settled... not as a Scion but as me..."

"And I have waited long to know the answer. Even if the dust never does seem to settle for you, I promised to do my damnedest to give you some measure of respite, did I not?"

"Ah... yes. You did..." Her fingers wound more in his hair, her nails scratching pleasantly along his scalp. The physical exertions of the day began to wear on him, but he stubbornly rejected the bliss of sleep, refusing to let slumber take him without the answer he had longed for since Ishgard took its first steps in peace. After a deep inhale, her chest rising under Aymeric, she continued:

"I am scared," she whispered, shame riddled in the tremble of her voice. "A man took his life today after proclaiming I had given him the greatest joy of his life. A man beyond cruelty, who had done... things... to those I care about. Who believed we were one and the same. His first friend. And that terrifies me. I was a beast to hunt for him but he... loved me, didn't he?"

Aymeric lifted himself, unraveling his arms around his beloved as he propped himself up so that he could look into her eyes. Tears welled up at the corners of her golden eyes and he watched her for a long moment. Despite the calm he showed, his mind swirled with a typhoon of thoughts and emotions. He had never personally met Zenos (at least not in the flesh), but the only explanation he had for the dreams and visions were that he and the monster held some sort of connection. But was it just the woman who gazed up into Aymeric's blue eyes or something else entirely...?

"I do not know." The only lie he had ever told his beloved, his Mari. Perhaps the truth following would absolve him that small sin. "What I do know is that you are powerful, which may make you similar, but you give everything to those around you. In that, you are his antithesis. He cared nothing for those around him, even those who swore undying fealty. People follow you not out of fear, but out of respect and care."

Tears fell from her eyes, but she smiled, the light in her eyes again.

"I learned that from you, you know." She pulled herself up, her lips just an ilm away from his. "When the nights are dark, you are always my light, Aymeric... Thank you..."

Who met the other first, neither knew. A final kiss--lingering and loving--and another embrace as they basked in the warmth of each other, just listening to the other, their souls in breaths in and out. Whatever mysteries left unanswered, Aymeric knew that they could wait at least one night longer. For now, this was all that mattered, all he cared about. In her heartbeat matching his, he knew she felt the same. A small blessing, but one they took hold of as hard as they could...

For light and dark always moved in cycles, one following the other for all eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Time passes and another battle on the borders of Gyr Abania... A stranger in Zenos' skin and a strange Elezen make their appearances. Plus, a wild Estinien!
> 
> Thank you for reading! To be continued soon, promise!


	5. Between Dreams and Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The visions continue for Aymeric, as does his frustrations... Meanwhile, a Garlean prince is not so dead?
> 
> SPOILERS AHOY!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait! I'm so happy that so many people are enjoying this, though, and your comments and kudos and everything have been so encouraging!
> 
> Much love to you all and I appreciate it so much!

Thancred, Lyse, Alisaie, and the Warrior of Light stood around an empty grave. It wasn't _supposed_ to be an empty grave. The four of them stood there, the truth of their situation stunning them to silence, not even moving as rain poured on hair and skin.

An Elezen stood on a cliffside facing them, far enough to not be noticed but close enough to see clear to Ala Mhigo's graves. This particularly Elezen, dressed as he was in the colors and garb of the Ala Mhigan Resistance, lingered at the spot, flexing his fingers. Nothing felt quite right, of course, particularly since the unearthed grave before the Scions was _supposed_ to be his... And he was Garlean, not Elezen. The stature was right, but the lithe form, particularly the pointed ears, was not his own. The body was handsome enough, but the crown prince rather preferred the image he had grown up with...

Still, Zenos cared less for his missing body, particularly at the sight before him. His lips curved upwards, not quite a sneer and not quite a smile, as his eyes lingered long on what he imagined kept him on this plane. His prey. Her. How did such a thin and graceful form belie such god-like power? Ah, he felt his pulse, even in this borrowed body, quicken remembering the joy he had felt at his **utter** defeat by those beautiful hands. It pleased him, greatly, that she still lived. The Warrior of Light. The Eikon Slayer. The one who was his first--and only--friend.

Before she might catch him, he turned away, almost humming to himself. Was this what the fools called infatuation? The excitement he felt when he saw her, even so far away? Certainly, it was obsessive, but what else had there been to live for? He had, after all, brought blade to neck with the thought that no other experience would ever compare. Climax, Zenos vaguely recalled, was indeed termed the "little death" by some. Indeed, it certainly had felt orgasmic at the time.

In fact, in the days proceeding his unwilling "resurrection", more than once had Zenos lay at night, restless, until he envisioned the Eikon Slayer as magnificent as she had been the day he died: the purples and pinks of sunlight mixing with the soft colors of flower petals, the wind drifting through her hair as he coughed blood, she steady as he went on and on, confessing his true self to her. How irritating that her supposed allies would interfere! That stage was only for him and her. It was only for her that he would know himself. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing.

The thought of it, the memory so vivid--of the curve of her lips, her strength, the taste of blood in his mouth, made him shudder with ecstasy. Nothing might ever compare.

He wondered, still. Had she tried to stop him when he brought the blade to his neck, their eyes meeting--blue to gold--as his hand steadied the blade to his neck? Had it been that, that which made him return to the living? He did not know for what purpose he had come and Zenos never liked not knowing. For now, he had only one plan, to watch his dear savage from afar...

If nothing else, he knew he would never be bored. And Zenos loved that.

-#-

What was supposed to be a meeting between Alliance leaders and new comrades had turned into--thankfully contained--panic. A voice had cut the meeting short, Thancred falling unconscious from whatever presence had tried to force itself on the Scions...

And Aymeric could not blame his beloved for rushing away with the Eldest Seedseer; Ser Thancred being carried over her shoulders and on her back. After all, it was the Seedseer herself who had pressed the urgency of the man's state.

(Was it wrong of him to remember how very jealous he would feel at the sight of the Warrior of Light and Thancred speaking to one another, the Hyur rogue animated and Aymeric's lover smirking at the theatrics.)

But the Voice. That was what concerned Aymeric, how it pushed so violently into the minds of the Scions. Granted, his lover was (of course) the least affected, but Aymeric knew that was likely due to the fact that she was who she was, a being fueled by relentless willpower. But resistance often meant retaliation, or at least some form of pushback. Nevermind that he knew little, which only enforced his worries.

...

By the time the chaos had died down, the Scions remaining had dispersed to search for what might cure the "Deathless Sleep". With their departure also went Aymeric's chances for time with his beloved--possibly for the foreseeable future. Given the excitement of the day (and that particular disappointment), Aymeric opted to rest that evening at chambers General Raubahn and Commander Hext had prepared for Eorzea's heads of state. He was much too exhausted, mentally and physically, to make his way to Ishgard. And, thankfully, the rooms were neither extravagant nor barren. Just warm rooms and somewhere soft to sleep. That was all he needed.

Even if it missed a certain element he had hoped for. A certain extra warmth.

Undressed and on his back on the bed, he pressed a hand over his eyes, frowning.

"Tch, this is not the way a man of repute should be thinking," he said to noone. "When did I become so... debased?"

-#-

When one has lived a life knowing little else but war, sleep does not guarantee rest. A commonly known fact on the star Aymeric called home, but he usually could tell his dreams apart from reality. Estinien was the one who taught him that, given the dragoon's past--horrors no child should have known. Why Aymeric was such the optimist, really, was because he had felt so humbled the night he had learned of Estinien's lost family, the night that the two of them were but foot soldiers and the only survivors of their party. If Estinien could move forward after such sorrow, how could Aymeric let the whisperings of nay-sayers bother him?

But this wasn't his dream. This was a battlefield that Aymeric had never stood on. He had not been on Cid's airship that day...

The one Ishgardians had called Iceheart, Shiva, but who was just a girl named Ysayle... Using the blessings given her to shield her friends, the few who had recognized her for who she truly was... Falling from the sky, too weak to hold the divine form, but thankful to do some "small" part for those she had shared kinship with.

Tears in the eyes of young Alphinaud, his face turned so that he might hide the turmoil in his heart. Estinien, normally so cold, offering the most gentle and solemn of words. Cid, though not knowing the maiden lost, feeling the heaviness in the hearts of those around him.

And the Warrior of Light. Aymeric's beloved Mari. The quiet and stoic figure on the outside, but the searing pain in her heart. Not understanding why Ysayle thought SHE deserved another friend to give their life for her. Remembering the excruciating loss of Haurchefant only days before. Two friends within days, who thought her hero enough to die for?

It was too much. Too much.

Why did the blessing of the Mother feel so much more like a curse? How many more would her fight cost?

Why must victory always come at the cost of life? Why?

The scene faded in a blur so fast Aymeric felt himself lose ground, his mind reeling with the shift. And, then, suddenly, an empty place. His father, fallen and dead, the Warrior of Light gazing down at him with absolute loathing in her eyes. An unfamiliar darkness that faded swiftly at the sound of another's approach.

Estinien. Her friend.

Sudden dread in her heart as he gazed at the pair of the dreadwyrm Nidhogg's eyes in his hands. Her cry not reaching him as Nidhogg laughed in the skin of a man who had spent so many days and nights as her companion in arms, sharing thoughts and hopes and struggles and all the rest. Her screams as Nidhogg fled the scene to start the last chorus of the Dragonsong.

Her eyes as she looked away as they left Azys Lla, unable to answer the question about Estinien's whereabouts.

Not again. Not again...

Hands reaching out to a friend, fighting through vengeful ghosts. Spirits of loved ones. Tears unshed for so long, finally giving away as a hand pressed against a simple grave, a broken shield beside.

Time sped through like the blistering cold over the once warm plains of Coerthas. Watching a friend, Papalymo, give his life for only a temporary measure, just enough for the Scions (for Lyse) to reach safety. A ticking time bomb only for...

Zenos. Zenos destroying everything... So many dead and gone by his whims, even after he was buried...

Tsuyu. Tsuyu who was once the woman who was viceroy of Doma. A second chance snatched away through the machinations of the Ascians, an Ascian in Zenos' skin. How Mari, the Warrior of Light, knew how Gosetsu felt at the sight of the girl whose sorrow had been used against her, betrayed by family and the empire both. The only course of action was to leave the old samurai to weep, to give him the space and time to mourn. When she had been in that place, she had only wanted that, after all...

...

Aymeric woke in his chambers, the prickle of stray tears at the corner of his eyes. He felt warm, too warm, and he dressed in simple fare with the thought to step out and gaze at the sky. Having spent several nights in the Lochs, he appreciated how beautiful the sky was in Gyr Abania. Ever since the Churning Mists, there was something about gazing at the stars that soothed him. How happy had his beloved looked when she saw him gaping at the lands around Moghome and Zenith...

Shaking his head, he left his room with a soft shut of the door, running his long fingers through his hair. Now...

He paused. The hallway was dim, only the stars and moon to cast light through windows. Odd. Even if it was late, very late, he did not think his hosts would douse all the candles... would they? Looking from one end of the hallway to the other, Aymeric strained to remember exactly the way he had came when he had first been shown his lodgings.

One room's door was slightly ajar, the light spilling into the hallway like the beacon of a lighthouse. As Aymeric approached, he could hear... noises. Gasps. Heavy breaths. Even as a blush threatened his cheeks, his compulsion was only to move closer. One of the voices felt much too familiar...

As his vision focused and he peered into the room, Aymeric's blue eyes went wide. The scene was lurid--two lovers copulating, all sweat and sex and passion. But... these weren't random strangers inviting perverts to watch them; this was...

Eorzea's hero, the Warrior of Light, bound by impossibly intricate rope, back arched to pronounce how the bindings around her arms and chest linked in such a way to hold her hands to her back, accentuating glistening skin. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her lips oddly beautiful with a gag made from rope between them. Above her was... Aymeric. As much flesh and bone as the Aymeric at the door. The Aymeric in the scene gazed at his prize with cool appreciation in his ice blue eyes, even as sweat gathered at his brow. His lips trailed kisses down his lover's calf to her inner thigh before delving to the apex, his mouth eliciting muffled shrieks and moans from his beloved.

This. This was not a memory. Aymeric had never even imagined this before, not even in the darkest places of his heart and mind. Yet, he could not help but feel... aroused. Wanting. He wanted very much for the scene before him to be real and for him to be the man in his skin with his beloved Mari.

The dream Aymeric laughed softly at the whimpers of the girl in his arms, pressing her legs to her chest as she gazed at him with eyes that begged. Begged for release. Such a thrill to see that on the savior of nations, for her to be at one's mercy. As his dream version pressed himself inside her--oh so slowly--her eyes only pleaded more, even as she shuddered with pleasure, he settled in her to the hilt. Even as the voyeur, Aymeric could feel the absolutely divine pleasure in his dream self. He felt dizzy, but not unpleasantly so, as if close to...

"Intoxicating, isn't it?"

Aymeric, the one who had been watching the scene, whipped around at the sudden interjection. His whole body tensed, years of training readying him for whatever threat was near. Leaning against the wall was a man, about as tall as Aymeric, long blond hair falling over one shoulder, the part of his bangs obscuring one eye just a touch. Between those blue eyes was the Garlean Third Eye, the smirk on the man's lips obnoxiously self-assured. Amused.

Zenos was dead. They had discussed this just hours before.

"Who are you?" Aymeric asked, even though it sounded ridiculous to ask in a dream. Because that was what this had to be... Just a dream.

The man raised a hand, dressed not in his armor but simple robes, the smirk still as plain as day.

"I am not the pretender, if that is what you are asking," Zenos replied, half laughing and half mocking. "In this realm, it is easiest to be as one sees themselves, I find..."

The Elezen raised a brow at the Garlean, but he could not help himself but turning back to the scene beyond the door, the vision of what he knew he wanted... but had denied. If there was anything he inherited from his father, it was how passionate Aymeric could feel, all hidden under polite decorum. A ruse to hide who he truly was...

"Perhaps we are not so different after all, Ser Aymeric de Borel," Zenos stated like a whisper in Aymeric's ear. Too close, but when Aymeric turned, the Garlean was no longer there. Vanished as if he had never been there in the first place. Sweat on his brow, Aymeric turned back to the fantasy-- **his** fantasy--that played out before him. A deep breath. Centering. Truly... he wondered why he kept up the farce in the first place, especially with _her_...

-#-

Something had changed, of that Aymeric was certain. The world continued about him as it always did, but the Elezen saw it differently. Colors seemed brighter--the blues and grays of Ishgard, the reds and golds of Ala Mhigo, greens and yellows of Gridania, and so on and so forth. His other senses felt sharper as well. The flowers of Ala Mhigo's palace gardens created a perfume sweet and luxurious. The stars, like diamonds. The heat like the warmth of a fireplace. His morning tea, even, tasted of earthy Coerthan tea and sweetened milk, poignant even as he had made the same cup for as long as he could remember.

But he hungered for something else. His skin itched, a longing just under the surface. Of course he knew what it was. He wanted his lover--to feel her skin against his, her soft lips, to see the sparkle of lust in her pretty eyes that only he could elicit. Eorzea's hero, supple and soft in his hands, her voice begging so sweetly... Aymeric splashed cold water over his face, knowing he had to lead his knights into a battle with Garlemald's army soon. That was why he was in Ala Mhigo again, after all.

When the Warrior of Light had arrived, the Lord Commander had used every ilm of his willpower to focus on his tasks as Ishgard's representative. He could not let his knights go into battle with a distracted commander, after all. Even with the light of his life not so far from him--after so many weeks and weeks apart--Aymeric still felt himself responsible for his soldiers. A true representation of the paradox that was Aymeric de Borel. He was, after all, so very relieved once the war council had settled on a plan. It meant he had time, albeit a very brief one, to himself. Just a night, really. Always just a night.

And he headed straight for her. The Eikon-Slayer was speaking with Lord Hien and his retinue, asked as she was to accompany the Doman contingent to bolster their confidence. But Aymeric could care less. He would not let anyone or anything get in the way this time...

Seizing a pause in their talk, Aymeric grabbed (none too gently) his lover's arm, pulling her away without even an explanation to her compatriots. Mari stared at him, but said nothing as he dragged her away from the encampment. It might have been a surprise to see the warrior among warriors be so docile (submissive, even) with the Lord Commander, but it only... pleased the Elezen. (Intoxicating? Perhaps...)

They did not stop moving until the lovers were far enough away from the encampment that the soldiers and leaders preparing for battle sounded as murmurs beneath the winds of the Lochs. It was then that Aymeric turned to his beloved, his Mari of the Greylands, Mariya du Bardorba. She stared up at him, her gold eyes resplendent under the star-speckled skies. They said nothing to each other for a time, Aymeric only touching a broad hand to her cheek. Warm. She always felt so warm.

"I missed you," Aymeric stated, his voice low, almost whispering. "I always miss you."

"I... I'm sorry," she replied, her eyes looking to the side as her cheeks turned rosy. "I've wanted to see you, but..."

"Duty. I know." He brushed a finger against her cheekbone, featherlight, and she shivered, her lips parting just a touch with her sigh. "I imagine traveling from one side of the world to the next does not give one time for much other than duty..."

The woman nodded, almost timid. She flexed her fingers, stretching them, as her eyes gazed towards the setting sun. Aymeric watched his lover, her skin almost shining under the gilded horizon, purples and pinks against orange and gold. He wondered, mutely, how he had never noticed how _he_ affected _her_... Perhaps she did need him, needed and longed for him, as much as he did for her. Of course, she never would say, would she...?

Actions were more important than words, Aymeric often stated. 'The difference between words, deeds, and beliefs', as he had said once, as Alphinaud had reminded him once, though those times felt like a lifetime ago now... Looking at her, sheepish and meek as he traced invisible lines across her skin, her lips parting--so docile!--as his fingers outlined the curves of her lips, he wondered if she bent this way for anyone else? (Of course, he already knew the answer, didn't he?) He dragged his thumb on her bottom lip, her mouth opening more just as he slipped two fingers against her tongue. Her eyelashes fluttered as her gold eyes looked up to him, her cheeks flushed fully rose now as she sucked on his fingers.

"I love you," he stated between a whisper and a groan, bending town to scoop the warrior woman into an embrace, his lips pressing reverential kisses across her cheek and down her neck. He paused at the base, grazing his teeth against her exposed skin, before speaking again. "No one else matters more to me. Nothing... and I will not allow anyone else to have you the way I have you."

She shivered as his kisses turned to nibbles, a little mewl from her throat, his fingers still in her mouth. Taking her, Aymeric took a seat on a large rock, still warm from the day's light, ushering his lover to straddle his lap. Her hands grasped his cloak, his now wet fingers tracing her lips and cheeks, as her hips ground against him. All he could do was smile, feeling so many weeks of his tension ease at the sight of this powerful woman melting against his desire. His free hand on her back, he pulled her closer as his hips pushed up--just a touch--and she shuddered, her eyes fluttering close as she gasped.

Clinging to him as she was, the tall Elezen nuzzled into her hair, cooing softly. As he had thought, not all was well with his beloved after all. Her shoulders began to shake, tears spilling from her eyes, and Aymeric just held her, breathing in purposeful and even measures. It was as he knew and remembered... Only he would ever see her like this, vulnerable and honest, just as he had for so long, since Ishgard and before. And that was his privilege alone.

"You are not alone," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her fully. "Whether now or in the next life... I will always be with you. We will find your friends together."

"I... I'm scared," she admitted between sobs, trying to muffle her voice even though they were far enough away that they could not possibly be heard. "I don't want to be alone. But I don't want people around me hurt..."

"They should be able to make that choice," he sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple. Though the most recent strike of deathless slumber amongst the Scions first came to mind, Aymeric knew that behind it all was the death that happened at the top of the Vault that one sunset, so many seasons ago. Ysayle, as well, soon after that. "... But I understand. My only wish is that you do not hide from me. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she sighed, her voice somewhere between tired and dreamy. "Yes, lord master..."

He blinked, involuntarily smiling at the old title. With a gentle touch of his fingertips, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Good, good." He positioned her so that they met eye to eye, each of his broad hands cradling her face. Pale blue eyes facing gold. "By the Fury, I have missed you. Gods strike me down, but another night without you and I was about to go mad..."

She--his sweet Mariya, his Mari--giggled, her tears drying. She placed her hands, soft, atop of his, smiling up at Aymeric with the last of the sun's light reflecting in her eyes.

"Then I'll stay with you...? As many nights as I can, at least," she teased. "Would be bad if the Lord Commander of Ishgard's Temple Knights was not in his best form on my account, after all."

Aymeric grinned, his thumbs brushing the last of the stray tears from the corner of his beloved's eyes.

"My beautiful girl. I knew you would understand," he chuckled, before dipping down to meet her lips with his. 

....

In the distance, a tall Elezen stood, dressed in the garb of a member of the Ala Mhigan Resistance, a katana of the east on his hip. He grit his teeth, watching the two lovers from the cliff edge where he stood. And he did not like the scene at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so much smut here ;;>.> \-- but it's coming! (lolol)
> 
> I meant to use more Hien here, but he'll be more involved, promise. At some point, the story is likely going to diverge (just a little) from "canon" timeline, but only because Shadowbringers is not yet out...... But perhaps not!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and enjoying!


	6. Life (In Conflict)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS for Post-SB quests really begin here! So beware! (And please do play it, if you can. So worth it.)
> 
> A brief interlude, a respite, between battles. Aymeric decides to visit his lover of his own volition, unsure when (not if) the next fight will come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooo so so much for all the kudos/comments/support! It means the world to me that people enjoy my writing (and my version of our lovely FFXIV boys). Thank you, thank you, thank you! <3
> 
> As always, apologies in advance for typos/grammar issues. No editor, but I'm trying to proofread and NOT just post these at 5 in the morning... Thank you for tuning in and reading!

A brief pause on the battlefront was, of course, a welcome respite. But Aymeric knew it would not last. It never did. Especially considering Eorzea's history with the Garlean Empire. Still, in the intervening time, he had come to learn much and more about his comrades in arms. After all, there was never anything more uniting than a common enemy; Ishgard's own history was undeniable proof of that. At least, this time the enemy was real and not a creation of lies parading as truth. Perhaps that was why it felt more dangerous--that a peaceful resolution might be near implausible. At least, that was how the Elezen viewed the situation.

Lady Kan-E-Senna was the picture of calm and serenity, but her gentility belied a fierce determination. So kind and gentle she was that he was not so surprised to learn that her most stalwart lieutenant was no other than a Garlean defector. A defector who, as Aymeric was told, only did so because of his mistress' mercy on him after healing him on what remained of Carteneau. The Padjali Elderseer was, indeed, a spirit of mercy if there ever was one. (No wonder, out of all the leaders of the City-States, the Warrior of Light was closest to Gridania's Elderseer--aside from Aymeric, of course.)

Lord Hien was another good-natured soul, full of an exuberance that made Aymeric seem more like Estinien than the passionate and (outwardly) optimistic person he was. Such was the Doman's friendliness that one would be hard-pressed to believe that the Lord of Doma had been born under Garlean occupation. The resilience of mere mortals was, in this sense, breathtaking.

It was odd to be around such parties of people, so many like-minded and determined souls. Especially for Aymeric. His dreams had not become any better, even with his beloved closer than they had been for years (closer and more docile, his secret inner desires purred). Indeed, they only seemed to "worsen"--more vivid, more debauched. In the quiet of night, the moment between consciousness and sleep, Aymeric understood it was all merely... his own suppressed wants. At the very least, the voice (with or without Zenos) not once returned since that night in Ala Mhigo.

And he knew why.

He knew and would not lie to himself any longer.

Passivity had never suited him before, so he resolved to never be so again. Not when he was not sure if the next day would come. For her or for him.

And so, for once, he went to her, following Lucia's quiet advisement that night in Ishgard. And while the Warrior of Light was never one to stay in one place for long, Mari had told Aymeric (her Lord Commander) that she intended to stay in Mor Dhona for a few days, to care and check in on her Scion comrades, especially with Alisaie's fall into unconsciousness. Leaving his knights under the care of his most trusted subordinates (Lucia included), the Elezen made his way to the encampment of adventurers. (And raising a few eyebrows and stares along the way.)

...

He found her at the Rising Stones, as he suspected she would be. Tataru (who "somehow" knew he was incoming) had him ushered in from the bar in front and into their private headquarters. Mari sat at a round table, alone, flipping through the pages of some thick tome, her face as stoic as it always was in front of others. She was not dressed in her armor, but simple adventurer's clothes: a form-fitting coat over a ruffled blouse, a (scandalously short) skirt, and thigh-high boots that seemed to accentuate the length of her shapely legs... Aymeric almost blushed, trying his damnedest to keep his reaction from Tataru Taru (a Lalafell woman well-known for never letting any detail escape her). Indeed, the Lalafell cleared her throat--loudly--to signal Aymeric's presence to the Warrior of Light.

The smile that formed on his beloved's lips as their eyes met caused such wonder in Aymeric that he thought himself struck by a perfectly-aimed arrow. (Truth be told, he was quite skilled with bows and, so, knew what such precision could do.) The woman all but jumped out of her chair, the book forgotten, as she made her way to him. She paused a polite distance away from him, her pleasure at seeing him as warming as the sun at its highest elevation.

And Aymeric decided, then and there, that there was no need for politeness.

He took one long step and lifted the shorter woman into his arms, his lips meeting hers with the same passion as a starved man with a proper meal. For a moment, she froze, but his lips--coaxing her mouth open and his tongue darting to tangle against hers--had her melting in his hands. To him, the audience (if there was one) no longer mattered, not when time and fate was tenuous, the future uncertain. All he wanted... was her. To have and to hold. Forever.

When they finally separated, both flushed and in need of air, the Warrior of Light tittered (giggled!) as Aymeric realized that, yes, there had indeed been an audience. That deafening silence? Oh, 'twas just all of her comrades in the room **staring** at the two of them. Tataru, still, was quick to pick her jaw up from the floor, and bounded to them with a most amused smile.

"Well, that certainly was an entrance, Ser Aymeric," the Lalafell stated, her grin wide. "Now, I suggest if you intend to--ahem--continue, perhaps you two would like a more 'private' venue...?"

Mari, the always so quiet Warrior of Light, gave a slight nod to Tataru. With a sigh, the Hyuran girl closed her eyes, before opening them with a more solemn expression.

"Thank you," Mari stated, her voice so very gentle. Almost sad. "Look after everyone. For me."

Was that tears glimmering in Tataru's eyes? The Lalafell shook her head and gave a cheerful nod, the glossiness of her eyes disappearing.

"No, no. You need not thank me! You deserve... you deserve... so much, Mari. None of them would be upset with you if it was for your happiness."

It seemed that the Scions had become much closer, Aymeric mused, since their time in Ishgard. More than friends, more akin to family. Was that relief in him? To know that his beloved was not alone, not truly, not anymore? Yet...

There was no time to consider much more as Mari pulled Aymeric by the hand, further into the space and to what appeared to be a cross between a barracks and what must have been inn rooms at one time. As the woman before him glanced around, the Elezen's eyes wandered to the curve of her neck, her usual battle armor almost always covering her from below her chin and down. And here she was, as dainty as she had been the day she had come to his home for a shared meal. She was always beautiful, he liked to say, but to see her in clothes more formal and less battle-ready suited her as well, gorgeous in a different way.

"Aymeric?" She called and Aymeric blinked, realizing he had been daydreaming.

"Yes, my love?"

She smiled at him, taking his broad hands into hers. He wondered how many knew her fingers were actually so delicate? Soft as her fingertips brushed against his, the exposed skin from his long gloves. Her cheeks flushed and Aymeric lowered his gaze, his eyes half-closed as blue eyes gazed into gold. How such a veteran of battle could be so demure in private was, in and of itself, a wonderful paradox to Aymeric. While the world saw him as the optimistic and virtuous representative of the Holy See, he was not without his own faults. His own desires. And how they were not of any virtue espoused by the righteous. Amusing, then, that his beloved was of the opposite dichotomy.

His lover brought his fingers to her lips--those beautifully soft lips--kissing each fingertip with reverence that almost felt like worship.

"Which is your room?" Aymeric asked, his voice rough, throat unbearably dry and clothing so restrictive.

"This one," she replied as she gestured to a closed door. "It is not much, though..."

"Doesn't matter." The Elezen reversed the hold, his hand grabbing hers, and pulled her along with him into the aforementioned chamber.

Almost pushing the girl into the room before him, Aymeric shut the door behind him, only just catching it before it slammed against its frame. 'This woman is the death of me,' the Elezen considered, his eyes concentrated on the being in his thoughts. A passionate man is not, he justified, a man who does not care for his own needs and wants. Who does not have his own desires for himself. No being has ever existed without his own flaws. And Aymeric's was, well, the woman before him.

With a flick of his wrist, he locked the door and crossed the distance between him and the Warrior of Light. She stared up at him, her eyes both expectant and yearning. He took a hold of her jaw, just a touch rough, as he bent enough so that his face was close to hers. Close enough that she might feel his breath against hers.

"It drives me mad, you know," he hummed, his free hand brushing her hair from her eyes. "That look you give me. Unguarded... Defenseless. The dragons all call you the warrior among warriors, yet I am the one who gets to see you like this..."

Her eyes fluttered close, her long dark eyelashes so pretty against her skin, as his fingers paused at her earlobe. He placed a kiss to the corners of both her eyes, purposefully slow and lingering, his breath against her skin as she shuddered. He remained close, his mouth close to her ear.

"Promise me. Promise me that I am the only one you will ever show this side of you..."

She gave a small, shy smile, her eyes opening to meet his gaze.

"A thousand times, yes."

Of course, this was not the first time he had asked this question, but he wanted to hear her answer again. He wanted the affirmation. The vow. He also enjoyed hearing her voice say the words, the softness he could elicit from such a battle-hardened warrior.

His mouth was on hers with the fury of Halone, the goddess who had given him the strength of his emotions. And like a bow, his beloved bent to him, followed his lead. Her mouth opened for him as his tongue searched for hers, to taste her, to feel her. And how wonderful it was, how wonderful it always was. Never once did it not surprise him, how **_well_** they fit together, against one another.

Pressing her flush against him, she groaned into his mouth, her body shivering with the fire of his touch. Her hands took fistfuls of the decorated cloak of his armor, she stepping on her toes to be closer, to meet him better. Aymeric couldn't help but smile. She was so perfect. So very perfect. If there was any blessing in his life it was **this** , this heart of his that could know hers, a woman who held her feelings so close that many of those closest to her never saw the truth. Her trust, her love--it meant everything. And he wanted all of it... Wanted all of her.

They fell together, Aymeric guiding her without either breaking away, tumbling onto the bed in such a way that Mari lay beneath the Elezen, her hair splayed against the sheets like a halo. Gazing at her, his breath caught in his throat, as if seeing her again for the first time, even if it had not been so long since they had been together. Yet... The light, soft through the dusty windows, touched her features in such a way she glowed, never mind the bright flush of her cheeks, the slight wetness of her lips, slightly parted as she breathed heavy. Her eyes that never faltered as she gazed into his, the gold irises such a startling color, like the clearest amber stone or brilliant sphene--he wanted to drown in her very being, lose himself there and then.

As if freed from some invisible chains, they began pulling at each other's clothing, Aymeric's mouth searching for his beloved's--kisses deep and hard that left them both gasping for air, even as they struggled to free themselves from every article of armor and clothing that kept their skin from the other's. Belts were unfastened, cloaks and armor thrown to the ground without care. Like a lion preparing to pounce, Aymeric gave only one long look at his beloved's bare skin, her form so very beautiful, before taking her hair into his hands, pulling her up from the bed as he cradled the back of her neck--his other hand supporting her back--as he pressed his lips, hard, against hers.

Already, she was grinding her hips against his, and he hissed at how much he just wanted to take her then and there. He did not, though; he needed to take his time, to cherish this moment, knowing not when and how long the fighting would resume on the front. And so, he pressed his teeth to her shoulder, her body shaking as she let out a small cry, her fingers buried in his hair as a free hand took hold of her breasts, pinching and teasing her sensitive skin. When she bucked against him, he smiled, only to press his teeth to her neck, biting and sucking to leave his mark on her.

He laid her down again, gazing at her with half-closed eyes. With his hands, he traced her form, pausing at her most sensitive spots to tease them, before reaching to the apex between her thighs, his fingers entering her at the angle he knew she liked best, moving in her as she shook, turning her face away as she tried to cover her cries with her hand, the other grasping fiercely at the sheets. Watching, he brought his other hand to her breasts, squeezing the mounds before he brought his mouth to them, kissing and licking and biting again. He knew her body and it was not long before she cried out, her back arching as she pressed against him, almost thrashing with the intensity of her orgasm.

He smiled against her skin, but only quickened his pace, his mouth now over hers as she moaned into him, her body clenching around him again and again. When he finally did pull away, her face was flushed a deep rose, her breaths more like panting, her chest rising up and down as she tried to calm herself. Her eyes, though, those beautiful eyes, gazed at him with an unspoken need, a silent beg.

"Tell me what you want, my love, and I will give it to you."

He did not think it possible, but her cheeks darkened even more, her lips (almost bruised) pouting at him.

"My lord," she sighed, fluttering her eyelashes in that cute way he loved, "please make love to me..."

"Good girl. As you wish," he replied, his voice as sweet as the joy in his heart.

She was his and his alone. He would not have it any other way.

Joining with her, Aymeric grit his teeth as she clung to him, gasping against his ear, shaking as he pushed himself to the hilt, her legs wrapping around him as her nails bit into his skin. No matter how many times he had her, it always surprised him at how absolutely wonderful she felt against him, his desire inside her, the feel of the lovers wrapped in an embrace that connected them in every way possible. Even he could not help but groan as he began to move, she meeting his hips in time. Each time she came, Aymeric moved them to another position, her on top of him at one point, another with her on her stomach and him above her. How many times she reached the blessed heights of ecstasy, Aymeric lost count, but it was such a wonderful symphony for him to hear her cry out his name, lost in that state of bliss. And it was that, that gorgeous glow of her face post-climax, that pushed Aymeric over the edge, joining her one last time as he spilled his desire inside her, all but collapsing atop of her, their bodies and limbs still entwined.

After a breath, Aymeric opened his eyes, still holding his precious Mari close to him.

"I'd forsake it all," he whispered like a prayer against her skin. "If I could never spend another day or night without you..."

Her hands brushed his hair from his eyes, gentle fingers brushing them behind his long ears.

"And I wish I could give that to you." Tears sparkled at the corner of her eyes when Aymeric looked, though she continued to smile. "My only home is with you, Aymeric. In all of my life, I have never felt like I belonged anywhere like I do with you."

He tilted his face into her touch, his eyes closing for a moment. It had not been his plan, but...

When he opened his eyes again, a seriousness took over his gaze.

"My love. My heart..." He sucked in a breath, steadying himself, holding her so that their eyes remained locked. "This is not how it is usually done, but considering everything... Would you let me take your hand, to be mine in the eyes of the Fury and men alike?"

"Are you..?" She blinked, rapid, staring with her mouth agape at him.

"Yes. Will you, Mariya du Bardorba, my Mari, be my wife?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MWAHAHA. *ahem* I'll leave it at that.
> 
> I'm trying to be more timely with updates, but life has a way of hitting (read as: punching) people in the face. So... thank you everyone for being so patient! (It's partially my fault, I admit, as I'm the one trying to powerlevel another class in FFXIV again... >.> )
> 
> Comments/kudos/etc. are always loved and appreciated. :)
> 
> Next Time: Elezen!Zenos ruins a party. Oh, and the WOL answers an important question.


	7. The Eyes of Gods and Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric faces forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, apologies in advance for spelling/grammatical errors. I try my best, but I'm nowhere near perfect. xD

As realization of Aymeric's proposal dawned on the Warrior of Light... tears sprung from her eyes. Though the Elezen had thought they were joyful at first, her gaze said otherwise, more and more tears falling to her eyes. Her breath grew heavy and her whole body shook as she covered her face with her hands. Aymeric, in a word, was dumbfounded.

"I... I'm sorry," she huffed between sobs. "It is not you. Not you at all... I just..."

Immediately, Aymeric pulled the girl closer, pressing her cheek to his chest, his lips to her hair again--as they seemed to be so often--as he whispered gentle words. He knew, of course, how much her title of "hero" cost her, the suffering she had endured for the sake of so many who frankly may not have deserved it. How high was the pedestal they all placed her on, how much they had all asked of her... Yet, he was still unsure how his (admittedly life-changing) question caused whatever hurt to resurface. Perhaps...?

A sudden conflict in his heart and mind. Was this rejection? Was he not enough? (Not enough, just like his father had thought of him?)

Mari calmed just as Aymeric tensed. As if sensing his unspoken worry, she placed a hand to his chest, her forehead to his skin.

"You have nothing to fear, Aymeric," she sighed, her breathing evening out. "You already know my answer... but, there is something I must tell you first. Please."

He nodded; for what else could he do? Though he could very well die on the battlefield at any time, he had--in a simple question--upturned his entire life. He had wondered why so many highborn in Ishgard had a tendency for arranged marriages and, perhaps, this--how he felt at the moment--was why love seemed to be so secondary to anything else. Why risk ruin (and a broken heart) when marriage could be a simple tool to be used to one's advantage?

When she sat up, still bare (glorious in the glow of the mid-afternoon sun), Aymeric followed, running his long fingers through his hair. It seemed a bit preposterous to be so nervous, especially after so long (and she did say he had nothing to worry over). But. Aymeric was a pragmatic man, even if his convictions, his passions, were on the stronger end of the spectrum. That didn't mean, however, that he was not one to have doubts. Old wounds liked to open and remind him of them when his thoughts turned like this.

Her hand brought the Elezen back to his senses, her fingers and palm against his cheek as she turned Aymeric to face her. Relief washed over him as he found her smiling at him, as radiant as the light she was often compared to.

"I love you, Aymeric de Borel," she spoke soft, her voice sing-song. "I always will. But I want to... I want to tell you something I have never told anyone before. At least, no one in Eorzea..."

His hand covered hers.

"Whatever it is, I will listen. I will listen to everything you wish to tell me, for I would know you as I should. No matter what you tell me, I will always hold you in my heart for as long as it beats in this mortal shell of mine."

Mari smiled, even as tears gathered at the corner of her eyes.

"I know," was all she said before she placed a kiss to his lips, just a touch but lingering ever so long.

-#-

She had asked Aymeric to meet her at the shoreline of Mor Dhona, the place that overlooked the Keeper of the Lake, a monument to the very dragon that she had once rode upon, the Father of all dragons. Naturally, she had some (superfluous, he supposed) errands to run and wanted him to rest for a time while she attended to her task. Leaving him with just his thoughts. And, of course, the lingering gazes of all the Scions in the Rising Stones.

Sitting in the tavern area (he didn't know what else to call it) of the Scions' headquarters, Aymeric thumbed through a small chapbook he had found in his lover's room. She traveled often on the extreme end of "sparingly"--her personal belongings, he was told, she kept elsewhere--and, so, he couldn't help but wonder what this trinket was. At first glance, it seemed to be akin to fairy tales, a collection of Dravanian myths and legends as recorded by Sharlayan scholars. Yet, as he flipped through the pages, he found Mari's handwriting scribbled in the margins, notes on her observations with dragonkind (some apparently from Midgardsormr himself).

It was, to him, wonderful.

A plate of something warm and fragrant slid onto the table in front of Aymeric, causing him to pause. When he looked, he saw a Mi'qote woman, mature with a kind smile, her short white hair neat and her eyes bright behind round glasses.

"Ah," Aymeric began, blinking at the woman. "You are too kind, mistress..."

"F'lhammin is enough," the woman nodded, her gaze warm. "And you must be Ser Aymeric. Tataru has spoken of you much over the years and the kindness you and others in Ishgard showed her and the Scions when no others would."

Aymeric stood and bowed, as any gentleman would, and F'lhammin giggled.

"I see also that she did not exaggerate on your charm," she laughed. "Please, please. There's no need for formality. Not here, at least... I am sure there are not that many places where a man of your station can simply... be."

The Elezen tilted his head, curious. No one had put his day to day in such terms, but... It was true, wasn't it?

"No, I suppose not," he sighed, gazing to the side. A long pause ensued, Aymeric wondering what, exactly, he was doing. He didn't know when the Warrior of Light would return, nor when he might be called back to the front. So, why...?

"You are like her, you know," F'lhammin spoke, her voice quieter, more serious. "Mari. She never stops to rest, not even now. For all that has happened, I worry... I worry for her."

Aymeric looked back again at the woman, a small crease forming between his brows.

"What do you mean?"

"She has lost many of those close to her. Those who believed in her, above all else." F'lhammin took in a breath, as if to steady herself. By the way her hands grasped at her apron, Aymeric could tell there were strong emotions behind her calm gaze. "One of them was my daughter. And you know of others, I know... But... when I look at her, I worry that she believes herself to blame. As if she is the cause of all the troubles in the world."

There were tears in F'lhammin's eyes, the eyes of a mother who has lost a child. For the briefest of moments, Aymeric questioned if he saw that to be the case, not from his experiences with the downtrodden in Ishgard, but because it was part of his memory as a child... His very first memory. A woman who knew she could not keep him...

The mother he had never known.

At Aymeric's stillness, F'lhammin waved a hand, her smile returning.

"But please! I did not mean to press something so sad upon you. I just... I just hope you'll watch after her, won't you? She should be back ere long, in a matter of bells."

Aymeric relaxed, his turn to take in a steadying breath. He had not treaded down that mental path in some time and it had shook him, even if just a little. Even before his father's demise, he had not often thought upon the woman who had bore him to life. As far as he knew, she had disappeared, but he wondered if (perhaps) it had never been her choice...

But that wasn't what was at hand. Not what was before him.

"I will, I swear it," Aymeric said, responding to F'lhammin's question. "I will always watch over her."

F'lhammin smiled, wide, before bowing and taking her leave. And, as she left, Aymeric could see tears fall from the woman's eyes, just a few stray droplets as her small hand wiped against her cheeks.

-#-

When Aymeric came to the place of their meeting, he was almost unsurprised to find his beloved already there, her gaze intent on the dark effigy of Silver Tears, the monument to the Keeper of the Lake. As he approached, she did not turn to him, but he could see a soft smile spread across her lips as he stood by her side.

"I asked you here," her voice began, breathy in the cold evening air, "because this is a special place for me, and also where I feel everything truly changed for me."

Aymeric said nothing, just stood by her side, his gaze never wavering, his stance open and facing her. This was not a time, he told himself, to speak.

"Midgardsormr has protected me since the time I stepped into his place of rest," she pointed to the erstwhile form of the Father of Dragons, "but he was also the first to push me to not just act, but think. To consider what I did and who I did it for."

Her gold eyes turned to Aymeric's blue, finally. They shone, brilliant, under the warm colors of sunset.

"For a long time, I didn't know. I didn't even realize that I wasn't thinking for myself. It wasn't until Ishgard, when I met Estinien, that anyone has ever questioned the Scions for simply throwing me at every primal that we came across...

"Though I know it was not just him. Haurchefant worried for me, constantly. Until the very end, even..."

She sighed, her gaze lowering as she shook away her tears.

"I need you to understand, Aymeric," she stated, her voice shaking even as she returned her gaze to match Aymeric's. "I need you to understand who exactly I am before you... before you decide something like matrimony or what have you."

The Elezen gave one small nod, before taking a step closer to the woman.

"I think you give me less credit than I am due," Aymeric breathed, his voice half rumbling from his chest and the other half from the ache in his heart. His hands took her face in their grasp, his fingers in her hair. "But I will hear everything you have to say. I only wish you to believe in the sincerity of my choice. I would think, after all these years, you know me not to be fickle."

She closed her eyes, her face leaning into his touch--a sign of her complicity (her submission) to his words.

And, like that, she began to speak of her entire life. Much of it Aymeric already knew, but this recounting was as thorough as possible, every emotion and every thought of hers as she fought and lost and fought again. She, like Aymeric, was an orphan, a bastard child who survived with the kindness of those who had no reason to be so to her. Taught to fight and travel, to hone her skills and to see the world. In the end, she had not asked to be the hero... just as Aymeric had not asked to be a leader (even if primarily "de facto") of a nation. Both of them had just wanted... to feel worthy. Worthy of love, of kindness, of all the hopes placed in them.

Aymeric pressed his forehead to hers, their noses bumping soft like the gentlest of kisses.

"It is not your fault," he whispered, holding her close. "'Twas never your fault. So please, do not blame yourself so. I accept you, all your faults and scars and nightmares. I only hope you will accept me, as well."

"Of course," she spoke, quavering as she cried, joy and relief mixing with her raw melancholy. "You were always the one... the only one..."

They kissed, Aymeric's arms around his beloved tight, both of them breathless before they pulled away from each other. It was already twilight by the time they returned to the Seventh Heaven, but they were at peace. When they entered the Rising Stones, hand in hand, several of the Scions cheered. Though it was still solemn with so many of Mari's friends still yet to awake, it was still a moment of calm in a turbulent sea, a little light in an otherwise dark part of their lives...

-#-

It seemed odd to have a wedding both done so quickly and without any pomp or circumstance. Yet, considering how ephemeral life could be for them, Aymeric knew this was just a "placeholder" until the time came (if it ever did) that the dust would settle--as he liked to say--and something better could be planned. And so, it was just Aymeric and his beloved Mari in the Churning Mists, their rings exchanged under the eyes of dragons and moogles, witnessed by Lord Edmont du Fortemps and Tataru Taru (who cried incessantly). In a way, Aymeric almost preferred it this way; no needless attention nor the gossips of High Houses. It felt... pure.

Upon their return to Ishgard and after departing from Lord Fortemps and Tataru, however, a strange man awaited them at the steps between the airship landing and the Borel Estate. Dressed in what appeared to have once resembled the clothing of one soldier of the Ala Mhigan Resistance, the man--an Elezen by the looks of it, though their race were not often counted among citizens of Gyr Abania--stared at the newlyweds with a gaze both haughty and hostile. It was, to put it simply... unnervingly familiar.

"Ho, ho," the man spoke, the pitch of his voice and manner of speech also familiar. "And what do we have here? A man and a woman newly betrothed?"

Aymeric twitched, reaching for the sword at his side out of reflex. While he disliked that the stranger had essentially given fuel for the highborn gossips that walked the streets of the Pillars, he disliked more the sneer on the man's lips. Yet, when he looked, Aymeric found his lover shrinking, a look of horror and shock on her face.

"You... You're dead..." Mari let out, her voice hoarse. "I saw you..."

"My enemy, my friend," the man replied, stretching out a hand to her and ignoring Aymeric completely. "Full glad am I that you can recognize me even in this form..."

His nerves alight, Aymeric placed himself between the man and Mari, his glare as white hot as dragon's breath. The girl who had never shown fear, not even when striding towards Nidhogg, cowered (cowered!) behind Aymeric, clinging fast to his back. Aymeric was only more furious for it... and he knew then, exactly, who spoke to them.

"Move a step forward," Aymeric warned, his voice dipping darker than anyone had ever heard from him before, "and I will cut you down."

"Tsk," Zenos scowled. "If it were not for this form, you would have little chance of even saying such a thing. But it would do me no good to be exposed at this moment. I simply wanted... to see..."

The once-Garlean glanced towards the Warrior of Light behind Aymeric, the glint in his eyes predatory. As Aymeric reached for his sword, Zenos sighed, dramatic as he shrugged his shoulders. Aymeric did not know whether he should be more offended for the man's untoward behavior or the being's flippant disregard of him.

"I suppose this is not the time," Zenos shook his head. When he turned, he may have faced Aymeric, but his voice was for the Warrior of Light. "The hunt will go on. It must. And I do so look forward to the day we meet again, my beastie..."

Mari's hand clenched tighter around the cloth on Aymeric's back, her shivering more pronounced. Yet, it was when Aymeric turned to her that he realized his mistake. Zenos took that moment to vanish. An old trick and Aymeric felt foolish for not realizing the Garlean's ploy. Only a little, though, as he turned his attention to his most beloved, holding her close to him as snow began to fall again from the lightless sky of that night.

What, exactly, did Aymeric know about what it meant to protect the woman who protected all of the realm? As he cooed softly into her hair, she crying into his chest, he wondered what he **_could_** do. Compared to everything else, was he really that important in the grand scheme of things? (She would, of course, say he was, but he did not believe it, not at this moment.)

As she calmed, her breathing evening out as her grip loosened on his clothing, Aymeric pressed a kiss to her hairline, soft and warm. She took in a sharp breath, pulling away to gaze up at him, her eyes shimmering from the street lamps.

"Aymeric," she breathed, pressing closer to him. "Please. Please help me forget..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, I suppose this is where things start to diverge from in-game canon (in a way). But, not too bad. I hope. hah.
> 
> Anyway, thanks as always for reading! Comments/kudos/etc are always loved and thank you to everyone reading! Your support keeps me writing. <3


	8. Sacred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric asserts himself...

She continued to shiver, even once they had come inside, even as Mari sat (on the floor) by the fireplace in the Borel Manor, Aymeric sitting in a plush armchair across from her. The Elezen watched her, his now _wife_ , he leaning with one elbow on an armrest, finger across his lips as his mind churned in the silence. Mari wasn't looking at him, just staring into the fire, a thick blanket around her shoulders. They were alone in the house, Aymeric's stewards and servants all having been dismissed for the rest of the night. And the lord of the house did not like this continued silence.

There was so precious little time as it was. Or, rather, Aymeric never knew when the woman before him might disappear on whatever journey the realm pushed her on.

"Mari," Aymeric stated coolly, unmoved from his place on his chair. It was a command, not a request.

Her gold eyes snapped up, blinking as if waking from a dream.

"Y-yes...?"

Aymeric shut his eyes, taking in a deep breath. His body was still tense from the earlier confrontation with Zenos. When he opened his eyes to look at the Hyur woman before him, his gaze was hard, full of all the unspoken frustrations he had been living with for years. And so, he straightened his back, still in a seated position, and leaned forward, his hands clasped together and his elbows on his knees, his pale blue eyes locked onto the gold irises of the woman before him.

"What bothers you so?" Aymeric's tone was much darker than the words he spoke. "Is it... Lord Zenos?"

She bit her lower lip, a sign Aymeric had hit his mark.

"It... It's just..."

"Just what, my dear?" He furrowed his brows, a crease between them. "I have watched you stride into battle against creatures older than time and 'tis a dead man--a man you've beaten more than once--that upsets you?"

She looked away and Aymeric (with much difficulty) refused his instinct to march straight to her to force her gaze back to him.

"I..."

"Tell me."

"He... asked me... before I fought him in the form of Shinryu... he asked me to accept him..."

Aymeric cocked a brow. Rage built inside him, though he was not entirely sure why her words felt like such a _slight_ against him.

"And... did you?" he asked, trying to distract the fire in him with measuring his breathing. He already knew the answer, of course. He knew the Warrior of Light more than anyone else, knew her more than anyone in Eorzea. But, he needed to hear it.

"Yes," she said, her voice soft as she gazed to the ground between them. Was that shame, he wondered? Did she consider it some form of weakness, a moment where she felt compassion for a man so beyond cruel? She continued: "To be honest, I am not sure why I did... I... I just said what I thought was right. I didn't think, really..."

"So, you spoke from the heart...?" Aymeric leaned back in his chair. It was a strange sensation, though not unfamiliar--the want to be both angry and protective. With her. To want to punish her, but also hold her...

"I suppose," Mari spoke, sighing, her cheeks flushed deep rose. There was most definitely shame there, he realized.

There was a long pause, no sound aside from the crackle of the flames in the fireplace. Mari stared away from Aymeric, but as he sat there in the quiet, she began to squirm: adjusting how she sat, stretching her legs, leaning from one side to the other, and all the other little signs that conveyed her restlessness. Aymeric only waited, a plan formulating in his mind.

"Come here," he said, finally--not a request, but a command.

Blithely, she nodded, turning to face him again. If Aymeric knew her more than anyone in the realm, then Mari knew him to the same extent. In the stage play of their lives, they each knew their parts, especially in relation to each other.

And so, she dropped the blanket from her shoulders, lifting herself from her seat but only so far as to be kneeling and then gracefully dropping so that she was on her hands and knees. With her gaze set on Aymeric, even with her cheeks colored, she crawled to him, her catlike grace on the battlefield expressed just as well in these movements. And, like that, she stopped before him, kneeling between his legs, her face turned up to him.

This was a sign of trust and, yes, obedience.

A woman warrior of action, Aymeric knew she preferred her actions to speak for her when words could not.

With a gentle touch, Aymeric tipped her face just a bit more, he leaning forward so that he was gazing down at her. When had they become like this? He doubted either of them remembered or even knew at this point. But... he felt relieved at this sight, the sight of her beneath him like this. The rage he had felt moments before slipped away, leaving only... desire. Desire and love.

"I forgive you," he sighed, brushing his thumb against her lower lip. "But I'd like to remind you that _you_ , my dearest, are _mine_. My _wife_ now. I was your first and I will _never_ let another have you. Do you understand? _Mistress_ Mariya de Borel?"

Her blush deepened in color and he smiled at her--a wicked smile, but a smile nonetheless. (Besides, how wicked could a man like Aymeric de Borel really be...? Well, that was a question for philosophers, he mused.)

"Y-yes, my lord," she replied, her voice more breath than words.

"Good girl," he stated as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Now... Let us begin..."

He placed a soft kiss, feather-light, against her lips, before taking her wrists and bringing them to the hem of his trousers. As he watched her--her chest rising up and down with her breathing, her lips parted--he smiled (much softer now) at her and her glassy, lust-filled eyes. With deliberate motions, she loosened his belt and, with her nimble fingers, freed his aching need. He sighed, running his fingers through her soft hair, his own worship of her in the gentle touch.

As her mouth covered the shape of his desire, he resisted the urge to shut his eyes, even as he groaned. He wanted nothing more than to watch her, to see her at work, the way _she_ could make him feel like no one has ever, whether before or after. She worked him diligently, her tongue and lips and mouth almost driving him past the edge if not for him stopping her, his hands on either side of her goddess-beautiful face as he pulled her away from him.

By the Fury, his beloved was more than he could have ever asked for in this life. Was it any wonder that he refused to give her up to anyone else?

With his hands still on her cheeks, Aymeric guided his beloved up to him, his mouth over hers with hunger, kiss deep and heavy as his tongue pressed against hers, nipping her bottom lip with his teeth now and then. As they kissed, his hands moved to her hips, lifting her up and onto his lap, a small yelp from her throat making him smile even as he refused to let her lips leave his. Out of reflex, he pushed his hips up, pressing himself against her just as she ground her body against his. With a grunt, he pulled her flush against him, hissing against her skin as she shuddered with tight gasps.

"Gods, I want you so much," he whispered, hot, against her ear. "I want to drown in you..."

Her trembling now was not from anxiety or fear, but sheer lust. She held onto him, her hands holding fistfuls of his shirt as she tried to muffle her moaning. But. Aymeric breathed in, harshly, desperate to steady himself. To indulge himself too quickly was not what he wanted. Not tonight. No, he needed... He needed that which they had denied each other for too long. Unspoken desires, lewd and wanton, but pure in love.

"I love you," he sighed, breath against her skin. "And I shall trust you... Do you trust me, my darling, my precious girl...?"

"Of course," she said, her arms wrapping around his neck. "I have always trusted you... Part of why I love you, my lord..."

He remembered, in a flash, how even on the battlefield, this powerful woman would put her faith in his decisions. When the so-called True Brothers of the Faith had taken hold of the Vault, she had listened to him without question, when she could have easily gone her own way, followed him even when he stopped her without so much a word with the crazed priest who had thrown an innocent girl from the top of the great spire. She had not once questioned him, even when (if it had not been for Vidofnir's miraculous appearance) it might have cost another's life... And even when it did...

Not that his mind could linger in that space for long, as she remained pressed against him, his whole body yearning (nay, screaming) for her. He was a man of flesh and blood and he had only so much willpower, after all...

And he never did say he was godly, did he?

Taking her with him, he moved to a stand and dropped his beloved to her feet. He pressed his lips against hers, soft yet lingering, once. Then a second time. And a third. When he looked, her eyes were dreamy, half-closed, as if pleading with him in silence.

"How cute," he hummed, tracing her lips with his fingers. Each time his fingers touched her skin, she leaned into it, like a person hypnotized. It was, in a word, lovely. So very beautiful...

Aymeric turned the girl around, taking the cravat that was once around his neck and tying it over her eyes, his own tunic thrown to the side. As much as he loved to see her gaze, he had ideas in his mind... Ideas he wanted to see played to fruition... And when he ran his fingers down her bare arm, his fingertips very light on her skin, the little gasp and shivers that came from her proved his theories. And even the strongest of brewed spirits could not compare to the sight of Aymeric's beloved like this.

With painfully slow movements, he removed clasps and undid laces, sliding the dress she had worn that day from her shoulders and down her form, his fingers gliding with the fabric. Her breathing was heavy, her head tilted back as she let out small moans, her body shaking more as he did the same with her smallclothes. He trailed kisses from her shoulder to the curve of her neck, eliciting a symphony of gasps and whimpers.

He stepped back, just a step, and slipped his hand between her thighs, a coaxing touch as she parted her legs for him, even as she seemed to search for him, only his hands touching her. Aymeric only smiled, his fingers teasing her open, one circling her sensitive outer and two from his other hand inserting themselves within her. Almost instantaneous, she threw her head back, her hands clasping over his fingers that she could reach, her whole form teetering as if she might fall at any moment.

And, after a moment, she did, crying out loudly with her climax. But the Elezen caught the woman, both of them landing back on the armchair. Aymeric only chuckled, one hand dipping again between her legs to tease her more. Her whole body seemed frenetic, shivering as if she were caught in the coldest of Coerthan snowstorms.

"Please, please," she begged. "Please, lord master, I... I need you..."

She struggled, her hands reaching for him though she could not see him, but Aymeric caught her hands, his grasp on her wrists. None too gently, he pinned her arms to her back as she writhed against him, urgent, he using all his strength in _not_ giving in to his baser instincts. The belt that had been discarded previously, he used to tie her hands together, careful to not restrict her overly much. After all, the point was their mutual pleasure, the metaphysical drowning of one in the other and vice versa. Drowning not in death, but in intoxication.

For what else was love but the strongest alcohol brewed in the heart for the soul?

In an embrace both wanton and passionate, Aymeric pulled Mari close to him--pressing his lips to her oh so sensitive neck, breathing her scent in--his manhood stiff against her own sex. Kisses turned to bites and he grazed his teeth against her neck, only to bite down _hard_ on the soft skin of her shoulder. She yelped, but only out of shock, her hips grinding against him as she tilted her head to the side, giving him even more access. His hands, all the while, slid up her front, fondling her, teasing her. He squeezed and pinched, running his nails against her supple form--any manner that he could think of that would elicit both pain and ecstasy. Her sweet little cries and moans were all the confirmation he needed of his success...

Aymeric left a string of marks on her shoulder and neck, bruises blossoming on reddened skin, all from his lips and teeth. Dragging his tongue against a particularly fresh spot, she shuddered, gasping. He could almost hear her heartbeat in his hands, her whole body warm... And he--and his entire being--ached for her, his self-control at its very limit.

"Fury take me," he breathed against her skin. "If this be a sin, then I willingly submit to damnation..."

"Then... then..." She sighed, shaking still but straining to control her body. "Then, take me with you, my lord."

A smile blossomed on Aymeric's lips. Even after all this time, his beloved could still surprise him.

"As you wish," he stated, his voice soft as he placed his hands on her hips.

Lifting her easily, Aymeric switched their positions, except he pushed his beloved forward, bending her over the armchair. She trembled under his touch--his broad hand smoothing down her back in one long and languid stroke, his fingertips gliding against her skin. His hands paused at her hips as he bent down, placing light kisses on the small of her back, his movements now directed to freeing himself from his own clothing. Though still blindfolded, her face turned towards him--as much as she could, considering her restraints--her lips pouting and beautiful to Aymeric.

Love, Aymeric always thought, needed ceremony. For if love was of the divine, then lovemaking needed to be held as sacred as any church ritual (if not more so).

And so, slowly, his body joined with hers, he hyper-aware of every sensation. As he began to move, so did she, their bodies meeting in time, even as their tempo increased more and more. Soon, they were both lost to this, their holy union of both the primal and the metaphysical. No words needed to be said--not that they could muster any--just the feel of one with the other, the perfect harmony of their bodies, their prayers formed with groans and cries of pleasure.

And Aymeric did not want the night, this pleasure, to end. He _refused_.

...

How Aymeric ended up in his own bed, he could not rightly recall, his eyes squinting at light pouring from his chamber's windows. In the fog between dream and waking, he moved to rise... but found an arm wrapped over his torso, the lithe girl deceptively strong even in sleep. And it was not just her arms around him; her legs entangled with his, her face radiant in the sun's rays. He could not help but smile. At the very least... at the very least, she slept peacefully, holding onto him. Aymeric, stifling a laugh, resolved that perhaps it was best for him to stay still, to let her rest. Besides, he thought, 'twas not a bad way to spend a morning.

If only, he prayed silently, this would be his every morning...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the delay with this one... (At least, I think of it as a delay lol.) I've been on and off sick lately--and most definitely had a case of writer's block. Have you ever started to do something and then stopped, only to forget COMPLETELY what you intended to do in the first place? That's my life right now... LOL.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading! Much love to you all!
> 
> As always, your comments/feedback/kudos are always appreciated (but not mandatory, of course!)! <3


	9. To Watch, To Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time Jump
> 
> In which Aymeric discovers something about an old friend.
> 
> WARNING: Spoilers! And references to THAT scene in Heavensward....

[FFXIV Fanfiction] Wherever, Always 9

To Wait, To Witness

On the scorched battlefield of Ghimlyt Dark. A dragoon and a paladin, both sons of Ishgard...

"... This should not have been up to her."

Estinien spoke, his eyes turned away from his old friend. Aymeric blinked, his mind returning to the present as he (finally) reigned in his anxiety. Estinien had come, with as much power and grace the former Azure Dragoon always had, barreling down from the heavens from a leap... But in his hands was not his lance, but a Hyuran woman... The silver-haired Elezen had landed before the chirurgeons of Ishgard, wisps of red and blue aether fading as he held the Warrior of Light. Aymeric, having heard that his beloved had bolted to the struggle with Mistress Lyse, Lord Hien, and Lady Yugiri, had been on his way to the front... only to find Estinien with Aymeric's love in his arms, the ice blue eyes as cold as steel as he landed on a knee.

Aymeric knew that gaze... The gaze of his friend moving with purpose, with conviction. With fire underneath the cool exterior.

It was plain to Aymeric that Estinien meant for him to care for the unconscious hero, but Estinien bristled when approached, watching Aymeric in silence, and even flinching ever so slightly as Ishgard's chirurgeons took the woman to where they could best care for her. That left Estinien and Aymeric alone, as much as they could be on a battlefield filled with so many nations (a whole continent and more against one empire!).

And so... as Aymeric watched the chirurgeons hurry their way from the front, Estinien finally broke the silence with those words.

_"This should not have been up to her."_

The dark-haired Elezen turned to his friend, his once comrade in arms.

"...Whatever do you mean, my friend?" Aymeric spoke slow, trying to gauge Estinien. No matter how long they had known each other, the great dragoon had always been difficult to read... if not near impossible.

Estinien relaxed his shoulders. Finally. When he turned to Aymeric, his eyes were impassive, no longer gleaming with any hidden inferno. Instead... the man scowled. Yet, even with the severe expression, Aymeric could sense a certain... tenderness. A window, however miniscule, into the once-unreadable dragoon's inner thoughts.

"You know exactly what I mean," Estinien began, folding his arms. Though the other Elezen had expected anger, Estinien's voice held little malice, just... disappointment. "Mari has ever been wont to throw herself into danger to help others. She knows not her limits, granted they are beyond any normal mortal's."

"So..." Aymeric did not want to say the words, but he knew he must... "You say the voice that rendered the deathless sleep to the other Scions...?"

"Perhaps." Estinien turned away, his gaze focused on the distant fires that burned on the battlefield. "She is physically unharmed, though if I had not arrived when I did, I doubt that would have been the case. But. I mean to say that you needs be more aware, Aymeric. I cannot watch over her at all times."

_"It should not have been me."_

Estinien had not actually uttered the words, but Aymeric heard it in his very soul. Was it an accusation? Or a plea? Aymeric was not sure, nor even if it was just his consciousness compelling him to 'hear' such. After all, Aymeric had not known Mari had returned to the front. They had expected her, yes, but he assumed...

He assumed much, didn't he?

Yet, a thought lingered as he gazed at Estinien. The man's voice in his ears.

_"It should have been **you**..."_

-#-

Though he had tried to refuse rest, Aymeric's body would no longer listen to him, no matter how his heart leapt at any sound in the Congregation, hoping for any news that would tell him his beloved had risen from her sleep. Lucia, the ever vigilant friend and comrade, pushed Aymeric into a small room--the very same room that Aymeric often slept in when he would work long into the night in his office as Lord Commander. Forced (ungracefully) into the bed--by none other than Lucia, Handeloup, Lord Artoirel, AND Lord Edmont--Aymeric's willpower collapsed and he fell to sleep soon after his head landed on the not-so-soft pillow.

And, again, he dreamed.

Dreamed of something he should not have and could not have possibly known.

Estinien and Mari--with Ysayle and Alphinaud--gazing into a campfire, the small moogle named Moghan fast asleep. Alphinaud taking his leave first, followed by Ysayle. Leaving Estinien and Mari alone with only silence, yet not an uncomfortable one. Estinien pitched another log into the fire, his face as unreadable as it ever was with his helm.

"It was kind of you," Mari spoke, breaking the silence, even as her gold eyes remained on the fire. "To help Alphinaud. And to agree to this... endeavor."

Estinien turned to look at the woman, a woman who seemed much too young to hold the entire realm on her shoulders. He said nothing, though... but neither did he rebuke her statement. It was too hard to tell with his expression masked. Mari turned to him, then, and... smiled. As warm as Coerthas had been before the Calamity.

"I appreciate your kindness, Ser Estinien," she said, bringing her knees to her chest, both graceful yet child-like in its innocence. "You hide behind a gruff exterior, but you are the first to... to care. To care about whether or not the next fight may be my last."

"You have known me long enough to not call me 'ser'," he stated, trying (and failing) to sound irate. "And you know things of me that many do not. I simply consider the lengths to which you once took to see me hale and whole... when we were little more than strangers."

"Our fates are inextricably linked, it seems." She half-laughed, half-sighed... not knowing what those words meant to the other dragoon. "I was quite surprised when Aymeric 'introduced' you to us. To see you again after disappearing when the Eyes once..."

Estinien huffed, before his hands reached for his helm, gently taking it off his visage. The way her eyes widened, the dragoon half-smirked. He supposed a battle-hardened Azure Dragoon is not thought to appear the way he does. And odd blessing by the Fury, as Estinien always thought it more troublesome than not, given his personal attractiveness had little to do with the business of revenge. Still, from the blush on her cheeks and the surprise in her eyes, perhaps there were benefits of it after all.

"You do not truly think I sleep with my helm on, do you?" Estinien chuckled, more gruff than the gentle Warrior of Light. After a moment, he continued: "But I think, perhaps, it may be better to speak without the helm for once. I am not foolhardy enough to believe that words alone can convince others of honesty or sincerity... Nor am I unaware of my own impoliteness."

When she said nothing in reply, Estinien looked to the skies, the stars bright in the Churning Mists. How funny it was that his country relied so much on these stars, as if the sky wrote the truth in the clouds. Yet, had any one of those astrologians been so close to the heavens as this?

"Perhaps..." Estinien breathed. "Perhaps you would like to take a walk? Nothing far... Not with these little ones asleep and beasts of all kinds so near."

When his eyes returned to the earth, he found the Warrior of Light already on her feet, her hand outstretched to him...

...

They had come from the clearing under Zenith's gaze, to a shaded cliffside, roughly a few dozen yalms away from their makeshift camp--close enough to see from which they came, but far enough to not disturb their sleeping traveling companions. _"Companions."_ Estinien stifled a chortle with a wordless grunt, causing the girl next to him to turn to him with the sudden sound. They had, after all, walked the entire way in amiable silence, minor observations on the scenery of the Churning Mists. (After all, he could not help himself to a quip or two at the sight of the vaunted Warrior of Light--the hero of heroes--picking herbs and flowers as she passed them, mumbling about reagents and alchemical properties.

They were not so different, after all. _Two warriors who hid their true selves from the world who asked for their protection._

The thought seemed to pass between them, even though not spoken aloud, as they turned their eyes to one another. Sun gold to ice blue. Her lips drew up to a smile and, with only the stars of the heavens and the aether-infused glow of the land around them, he wondered if Ishgard's forefathers believed this place to be the Halls of Halone. 'Twas no wonder that Aymeric...

Estinien turned away from her shining gaze, his armor-gloved hand moving to cover his lips. The Eye burned, though the Azure Dragoon was not sure why that particular thought would arouse the bestial power held within it. Still, that it reacted was enough to remind the dragoon of his duty, of how easily it could all slip away if he would but lower his guard for even a moment. How it had once before... and how this young woman beside him had quelled it before.

But he did not want to inflict that on her. As taciturn and cold as he appeared, he could at least recognize that. (She had endured enough, had she not?)

Her hand touched his shoulder, her gloved hands somehow warm even through plate and chain. Estinien shut his eyes. He knew this gesture, had felt it before... but this was the first time he knew it to be _**true**_. Knew that she understood what it meant.

_"You are not alone."_

_"You needs not shoulder these burdens by yourself."_

And, against his better judgment, he relaxed, tilting his head forward as his shoulders slumped from its rigid stance. How could anyone be so kind? Haurchefant's abundant enthusiasm (ceaseless enthusiasm) had always surprised him, but this... This was another sort entirely.

In the quiet beauty of the Churning Mists, Estinien raised his hand... only to cover the hand on his shoulder, the hand with so much warmth and compassion in the smallest of gestures.

It was then, at that moment, that the Azure Dragoon swore that he would protect the light of this woman's very existence--not because Mari was the Warrior of Light, but because he had finally found a reason to hope... to hope that he could be understood. It did not matter if she belonged to another, for her very existence in this cold and cruel star was enough to believe that the future was not so dark.

When their eyes met again, Estinien's gaze was no longer as cold as the ice of Coerthas, but warm. He said nothing, still half aware of the Eye's proximity, but only squeezed Mari's hand, ever so gently, his hand lingering ever long. A gesture that held all the sentiments he could not (and would not) voice aloud.

...

Ser Haurchefant Greystone was... gone. Even Estinien, who had grown cold to the sight of the dead, could not bear to watch the gentle knight breathe his last. He had turned his face away, a familiar searing in his heart, a loss so unfathomable. Especially for _her_. "A smile better fits a hero"... his final words, but Haurchefant had smiled in the end, having done what Estinien assumed was his calling from the start. But the suffering! When was all this suffering going to end? For a moment, he thought that, perhaps--if he could have turned back the hands of time--it would have been easier if it had been him. Would _she_ have suffered less?

He was sure of it.

He never wanted to be the survivor. Never wanted to watch the ones he cared for suffer, much less perish.

And, he knew, in his heart, that behind the Warrior of Light's steady steps was a sea of sorrow that mayhap had no bottom. How ever did she hide such tremendous pain, pain that would make even the most stalwart soldier fall to his knees?

But, he realized, she was not _allowed_ to weep. Not in front of others, at least; not when the very realm--the very world--rested so squarely on the endless path before her.

And so, as they all went their separate ways to think upon what they had all lost (for Haurchefant mayhaps was--truly--the best of _all_ of them), Estinien followed Mari after her short (and excruciating) speaking with Lord Edmont de Fortemps. He had been there for all of them to give the father the terrible news, but it was Mari who had spoken it. And Estinien thought all of them cowards for making her, of all people, say that the one who had most vocally advocated for her, who had stood as unwavering as any man could be, at her side. A man who had laid down his life for her, without even a thought spared for his own well-being.

How horrible they all were to her. What bloody cowards.

Yet, he couldn't leave it at that. He was not a saint, either... but, at the very least, he could at least waylay the girl from forcing herself to keep moving. To hold her thoughts to herself. He knew what that might breed in one's heart, how the torture would never cease. He had lived it, after all.

And Haurchefant would never forgive them to leave her like that. Never.

Thank Halone she wasn't sprinting her way down Ishgard's streets--like she always seemed to be (what in the Seven Hells made her rush so much?). Estinien caught her in the Brume (of all places), quickly taking hold of her arm as she (almost) made her way to the second set of steps heading up to the lower levels of the Forgotten Knight.

Here, they were as alone as they could be in Ishgard. The Brume was not a place where people cared for more than just surviving a bitterly cold night.

"Stop. By the Fury, stop, Mari." Estinien was gruff as usual, but even he was surprised by the lack of force in his voice. He almost sounded... tired. And she... she did not seem to fare much better. Her hair was disheveled and her gloved hands still bore the stains of her fighting in the Vault. Blood, he realized. Her dearest friend's lifeblood, from when she had held the man as he left the mortal realm...

For a blessing, she did not feign a smile nor do _anything_ that remotely resembled a falsified mood. She only gazed up at him, her golden eyes rimmed red, shadows under their shape. She did not hide that from him, though, and he felt... thankful.

Estinien told himself that he only wished to repay her for her kindness, but some small part of him knew quite well that he avoided the truth of his sentiments. He was not that kind of man, after all, and there was no time (no chance) for such frivolous thoughts. Not that he had much time to dwell on it, as he watched the tears well in her eyes, spilling swiftly as she lost that rigid control he knew oh so well. Without a word, he opened his arms; not that he had much to say at any rate.

And then she was there, in his arms, sobbing into his breastplate as she held onto him for dear life. His hand stroked her hair, suddenly (painfully) aware that he did not have much experience in comforting others. He held her close, deciding to go with whatever his instincts told him, tucking her temple under his chin, as he wrapped his arms tighter about her. Like this, she seemed quite frail, her shoulders so very small.

In the quiet of the night, he prayed, an act he had not done since the destruction of his home and the murder of his family. He prayed not the Gods Twelve or even Halone, but to a friend they had just lost. Not begging, but asking if--if there would be time for it--the man would not mind Estinien guarding this powerful yet small woman in his stead. To be able to watch over her once his duty as Azure Dragoon was done. Never need she fear to stand alone. This, he swore.

Even if it felt as if a certain other friend should have taken this duty.

As passionate as Aymeric was, so steadfast in his convictions... there would always be methods to which they would disagree. Decisions that left Estinien only more furious at the world.

Still, though he may never understand this woman's decisions... He would respect them. And, once Ishgard was free of blood and war, he would watch over her from afar. To make sure she need not cry again.

It should have been Aymeric, but Estinien would never balk at this task. This duty. He would see it to the bitter end if he must, even if it meant she never would know his heart... After all, the Eye resonated with her because he too had from the first they ever met.

-#-

Aymeric woke with a start, sweat on his brow. Coming to, he hauled himself so quicky from the covers that he stumbled, still reeling with the vision that was his dream.

This... This was what his friend had meant...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, this was an interesting write. I apologize for both the long wait (again) AND reminding everyone again about that particular death. I know, I think I took so long because I had to pause a lot from being really sad all over again. I just feel like that loss is really a major turning point for the WOL.
> 
> So, thank you for reading (and dealing with all this angst!). As always, your comments/kudos/messages mean the world to me (but don't feel obligated!). Much love to all of you!


	10. Interlude: The Price of Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Estinien watches... and remembers.

She had left Ishgard shortly after waking from the death-like slumber that had claimed her. Quicker than _he_ liked. After a single night of so-called "rest", she had departed Ishgard for Mor Dhona. No platitudes from Lord Edmont or anyone else had kept her there... and Estinien wondered if it was because Aymeric had left. Not that he meant to notice. Aymeric had not been wrong, per se--Estinien _had_ left. For a time. Yet... he had made a promise and he was never one to shirk his duties. Especially to the one who had saved him, not once, but twice. And, truth be told, Estinien always found himself wherever she was. How else could he explain being there to save her from the Ascian masquerading as a Garlean prince?

He just "happened" to be there. Without thought, he had followed her--from Gyr Abania to Yanxia and back again. He told himself it was to find the Eyes, that wherever she went just "happened" to coincide with his goals... but that did not explain how he had come to that battlefield, to her side. He had already ended what remained of the Eyes, and yet there he was. Of course there had been no hesitation on his part, leaping in front of the blow meant for her, the lance he called Nidhogg in his hands to parry the sword as it came down. He hadn't even realized what had happened until he had pushed the would-be Zenos back, growling like a wyrm about to set fire to his enemies.

A parting gift from Nidhogg, he mused. Long had Estinien come to understand that being bound by the wyrm's will for such an extended amount of time meant a certain inheritance from the dragon's essence. Part of him carried Nidhogg with him, whether it be just his warped lance or the draconian spirit that had bled into his very flesh. With Hraesvalgr's blessings and subtle teachings, he had embraced it as part of his fate, one that was both a curse and a blessing. Much like everything was, in the end.

Often... he wondered if that was how Mari felt, as the "Warrior of Light". When they had met in the grand fields of the Azim Steppe, she alluded to as much...

-#-

_The Azim Steppe. Several Months Ago._

Having reunited the youngling Orn Khai with his mother--what a surprise for Estinien to find that his mother was in fact the consort of Vedrfolnir--the mood around the campfire was quiet but pleasant. Estinien and Mari sat around the fire, alone and under the impossibly clear night sky of the Azim Steppe. A wondrous sight--while Estinien had (in his own way) marveled at the horizons of the Churning Mist, the Azim Steppe had a glory all its own. And, as he was now, the very feeling of wonder was yet another part of life that he cherished deeply... Not that he would say so, of course. (He had a reputation to keep, after all.)

But...

Was it just him or was the silence suddenly stifling?

Like a mirror of the past, he pitched a log into the fire, his eyes gazing heavy at the orange glow.

"Mari," he began, the only sign of any hesitation the passing of his tongue across his lower lip. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Unexpectedly, she jolted, her head whipping towards him and her golden eyes wide.

"Y-yes...?"

He gave a small laugh, more like a huff of air accompanied with a smile.

If he was honest to himself, he had always thought that she was rather cute. Deadly powerful but, at times, adorable in her straightforward innocence.

"I know you are promised to Aymeric," he stated, breathing out even as he watched her cheeks turn rosy through his sidelong glance. "But... if things had been different, would you have considered another?"

For a long moment--almost unbearably long--she only stared at him, the only outward signal of her mind churning being the way her hands closed and opened, repetitively, on the hem of her tunic. Even though he had a feeling of her answer, and that it would most likely lead to his disappointment, he was happy enough to just... be there. To have her trust in this way, for her to even consider answering him with honest truth. (Of course, it was not _quite_ enough, but he was a practical man.)

"I... I'm not sure," she replied (finally), though her voice wavered, her eyes turning away. "Perhaps? I have never really thought of it... But... I've always been surprised at your kindness... especially after..."

He turned to her, leaning to close the distant between them yet yielding just enough to keep a polite space between them. He was not one to believe (in general) that sweeping gestures meant much in the end, but he also disliked hesitation. Especially on his part. How else could he repay her honesty but to be honest himself?

Estinien placed his hand over hers. Another all too familiar action.

"You need not remember that ordeal. I only did what any man would do for a loved one." (For the one they love, he wanted to say but did not.)

Her eyes shut, suddenly, a crease forming between her brows. Estinien blinked, watching as she bit her lower lip (hard), her hand reaching for her temple. After a moment, Mari shook her head, her eyes still closed, recovering just as quickly as she had faltered.

He had seen this before. The Echo, as the Scions called it. The "gift". So, he mused, she must have seen the truth he had not the heart to say. How bloody convenient... he almost laughed.

But her eyes looked up to him, glossy with both wonder and unshed tears. When her lips parted... he took the opportunity, much like a seasoned veteran would with an attack at the immediate sight of an opening in his opponent. In the end, this had all been a battle. (Wasn't such foolishness always such?) His gauntlet-covered hands flitted to her face, fingers burying themselves in the thickness of her hair. Pulling her towards him. When she did not push him away--though her hands pressed against his breastplate, her body more complacent than eager--he deepened his kiss, coaxing her mouth open as he pressed his tongue against hers. Oh, how warm she felt...

When the need for air made Estinien pull back, she--with a breath so very heavy--shook her head, concern written in the furrow between her brows.

"I-I shouldn't... Estinien, if Aymeric knew..."

"He does not need to know," he stated, still surprised with the hoarseness and conviction laced in the words. "If he did, he would at the very least have the bloody courtesy to respond to one of your missives."

She tucked her chin. A fatal blow on Estinien's part.

"I know... I know you are right. But even still... it's not right..."

Estinien closed his fingers around the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her none too gently to the ground so that she lay beneath him. It could have been seconds or several minutes--he didn't quite know or even care--his eyes gazing down at her, blue eyes locked onto gold. The way her hair spilled across the ground, the lush green grass against her oh so dark hair... She was radiant, even in moonlight. Whether it was him or the not so quiet influence of Nidhogg's fiery temper, he did not care. He refused to stay quiet.

"Why should it matter if it is right or wrong?" His gaze turned hard, though his frustration did not lie with her, per se. "What is one moment of reprieve--of one indulgence--when all you have ever done is sacrifice parts of yourself for the sake of others?"

"... Are you not asking me the same?"

He stared. Was it actually him that was selfish at the moment? He closed his eyes, searching his soul for the truth.

"If you do not feel the same, then I will stop. Even forget all of this as nonsence."

Mari breathed in--sucking in air--her gaze not on him or even the present as her mind churned. It was as clear to Estinien as the stars in the sky. Her pause alone gave Estinien _some_ relief that he had not utterly overstepped. He wondered if there might be some loss, however minimal, of her trust in the light that she knew the truth. That he no longer had to hide how much--how desperately--he cared. It was not as if it would change much, as he had always guarded her from the shadows.

She returned to the present, blinking as her gaze fell upon Estinien again.

"I think... 'tis proof enough that I risked almost everything to free you from Nidhogg." Her hands, delicate fingers, reached for him, resting oh so soft against his cheeks--tender and warm. "The thought of losing you nearly destroyed what hope I had left. And the ones I've lost... they wanted nothing more than to see you whole again."

If Estinien had ever wondered if he had recieved Haurchefant's blessing in his choices, he knew then and there that the most honorable knight had given his consent. Indeed, he was surprised to feel such relief at the news, the mere likelihood that the man he had come to consider better than any other he had known--before or since--entrusted him to do that which so few others would.

... And he certainly preferred to never again wonder "what if"...

Though he had so many words to say, he knew himself to be better in action than in speaking. Besides, it was unbecoming of him to ramble on when words were so clumsy in comparison to physical expression. Had that not always been the way between them? And even if she loved Aymeric and could never love another, he believed it would be better for her not to say so. At least, for his peace of mind. (It would, after all, change nothing.)

Was it betraying a friend? Of course it was. Did he care? No, not when the man used duty as an excuse to neglect something--or someone--so precious.

And so, he bent down, his lips against hers yet again. His thoughts bled away, unable to think of anything but the feel of her against him. Her fingers ran through his long white hair, ushering him closer until he wrapped his arms around her pulling her up into his lap, her legs straddling him. He could hear nothing but the heaviness of her breath, the feel of her heat as hot as the blood in his veins. When his armor felt constricting, he all but threw it off of him, his hands soon on hers.

He wanted... He wanted. He wanted. He wanted it all.

Estinien had expected her form to be glorious bare, but he awed at how she _glowed_ under the moonlight, she laid underneath him yet again. Gods, no wonder Aymeric was so possessive. His hands gripped her thighs, pulling them against his as he ground his hips against hers. Such luscious sounds she made! She gasped and moaned, her hand covering her mouth to stifle at least some of it. Oh, how it was beautiful. He could not help himself as he teased her, pressing and grinding against her without entering her. Of course he ached, but the expressions she made was well worth his restraint...

Mari gripped his shoulders, legs wrapping around his torso. For his part, Estinien smoothed his rough hands from her waist and up to her breasts, squeezing none too gently as his thumb strummed against taught points. She mewled against his cheek and he thought himself going mad. She was like a waterfall against his sex and he knew he could easily...

Lifting her, he brought her down upon him as her soft hand guided him inside her with both force and haste. Immediately, she threw her head back, a loud gasp escaping her lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Though he had been with others before, this was a pleasure he had never known before. His nails drew hard against her skin as she shuddered, slowly finding a rhythm as she buried her face into his shoulder, his hip pressing against hers as he moved inside her.

Impulsively, he brought his teeth against her neck, at first grazing as his tongue dragged along her skin before biting hard just below her chin. She shook and he could feel her whole body tighten around him, the warmth of her like a fire fanned. He bit at her again and again, his hands again at her breasts but his nails digging in to her skin.

"H-harder," she half-whispered, half-whimpered into his ear, her breath so very hot against his skin.

"As you wish," he responded, growling as he pushed her back on the ground, one of her legs hooked under his arm as he delved into her as deep as he could, again and again. He dragged his nails like talons against her abdomen, leaving streaks of red as she moaned louder and louder until, finally, she screamed. Loud enough that the heavens might hear.

But he didn't stop there. Perhaps it was the years of hidden frustration, but he refused to allow himself release. And so they stayed, locked together, until the rays of dawn filled the sky, Estinien all but howling as he finally gave himself to climax. And still, he held her against him, she so spent that she was swift to sleep, he giving himself only a fleeting moment of the joy it was to feel her form against his.

Because everything would always be fleeting.

-#-

When he saw his chance, Estinien paused. Despite everything, he decided against speaking to Mari, everyone's vaunted hero (but Estinien's charge). He resolved it best to continue watching. Nothing else. Of course it pained him, but he had promises to keep and he knew himself well enough that he would cause her grief, having watched her reconcile with (and marry!) Aymeric. It was... for the best.

Like Haurchefant before him, he assumed, to love someone was to step away when it was for their happiness. He would protect her to the end, but he would never again be so "selfish". Always and forever would he cherish the brief joy he had felt with her. But.. this was his price to pay.

The price of his promise, however unspoken, to see her happy, hale, and whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aieee... This took FOREVER to write. I kept going back and forth on how to write this chapter. Admittedly, this is partially self-indulgent, but I was thinking of how to best continue with the story (especially with ShB just around the corner!). And so, the end is in sight! Probably (?) only a handful of chapters left. Will I get them done by the time the expansion is released...? Probably not. But I'm going to try!
> 
> Hopefully.
> 
> Again, more angst... I don't mean for there to be SO MUCH angst. There WILL be fluff soon. Promise.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for following along. All your comments, kudos, and support have been the absolute best. <3


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